


How Far We've Gone

by SmutLover



Series: Follow You 'Verse [1]
Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Cuddles, Demisexuality, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Get Together, M/M, PTSD, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sickfic, Smut, after the ending - Freeform, and the movie another half an hour, but what was up with that ending, like seriously the book needed another 100 pages, okay and boy sex, seriously what was up with that non-ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 23:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutLover/pseuds/SmutLover
Summary: The first two years after Mark Watney, Space Pirate, is recovered from Mars. (Because seriously, the book didn't end, it just STOPPED. There's another book to be had about the after!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I sat down to write some smut, and wound up writing 14K words of character development first, because IT ME, and by then I was locked into a sort-of-plot, and then I got the flu and was bored, and Mark Watney's a fun character to write, and Beck's sexy, and I don't even know. 
> 
> Enjoy. I hope.

Chris Beck had nightmares for the rest of his life about how close he came to missing the jerry-rigged MAV containing Watney as it went past. Inches. It had been inches. 

But he did it, and Vogel reeled them back, and then they were in the air lock and secure and he didn’t have a minute to revel like everyone else did. He had to shift from EVA Specialist to Flight Surgeon, because Watney looked absolutely terrible. Worse than expected, and he’d expected it to be bad. Chris had been reading medical journals for months, ever since the decision to stage a rescue had been made. Every data burst brought new information on starvation, malnutrition, PTSD, solitary confinement, and all the rest. Each one was more horrifying than the last. 

He’d been the one to declare Mark dead. 

Chris knew the entire crew, including himself, had been chosen in part for being low-risk on the PTSD scale, but this had been a little bit out of the ordinary for every damn one of them. Or, you know, anyone else in the history of the human race. 

Anyway. It all swirled in his head, all the risks, all the potential problems, as he peeled Mark – Watney – out of his pressure suit, ignored everyone as they commented on the reek. He hadn’t bathed for the months out to Schiaparelli Crater. Because of course he hadn’t. 

No one had thought of that factor. Chris wondered how much else they hadn’t thought of. 

He took a long, slow, deep breath, and summoned the calm detachment he’d had to learn along about hour three in the emergency room during his residency, and got to work. 

–

Mark had never been so damn glad for anything in his life. Back on the Hermes. 

Honestly, he’d never thought it would work. NASA had sent him the plans to rig the MAV, shoot himself into space, and he’d thought ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ There was no way. But his crew had mutinied, had added a year plus onto their time in space, torpedoed any real chance of going into space again, all to come back and get him. After that, the least he could do was drive his ass out to Schiaparelli and try to meet them halfway. What was a measly twelve Gs after the shit the Hermes crew had pulled, getting back to rescue him? 

Most days it was the idea of failing the crew that had gotten him through, those last months. If it wasn’t for that, he thought he’d have simply laid down and died, somewhere along that endless trip. 

Not that he’d been dumb enough to even think it at the time, to tempt fate. But all those months alone in the HAB, he’d thought he’d hit rock bottom? He’d been wrong. That infinite drive across the void? THAT had been the worst. Laying under the MAV, letting the batteries charge, trying to reduce some of the massive radiation exposure. Day. After day. After day. 

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to ride in a car again, not for long distances. Maybe it’d be different, surrounded by green, leafy things. Probably. But the desert southwest? Forget it. 

Once they got him back on board, they’d had to hang around in the air lock for an hour while Beck and Martinez did emergency medical evaluations on him and the Hermes re-pressurized, because evidently his crew was a bunch of lunatics. Vogel would go down in history as the first one to build and detonate a bomb in space. Crazy Germans, man. 

“You blew a hole in the air lock door.” Mark repeated. 

“Ja.” 

“With a bomb. A bomb you built with stuff that happened to be laying around. On a spaceship.” 

“Ja.” Vogel said with a laugh and a grin. 

“I TOLD you, you’re a super-villain.” 

Now here he was, on a comfy bed in Sick Bay (it was supposed to be the Infirmary, but everyone on board insisted on calling it Sick Bay, the Trekkie nerds). It was going to take a while to get the gravity back, so he was strapped down to the cot while Flight Surgeon Christopher Beck started an IV in zero gravity (they had to use a pump) and began blessed, blessed painkillers. Also some nutrients and fluids and other crap, but oh yeah, baby, painkillers. 

About that. 

“So hey. I might have hit the Vicodin a little hard while I was Pirate King.” 

Beck’s eyes snapped up, intent, from where he’d been prodding in his doctorly way at the scarring on Mark’s torso. “How hard?” 

“Pretty?” Mark felt himself wilting under that intense stare. He tried to shrug, and stopped because ow. “It’s all on the thumb drive.” He waved a hand toward the desk. Beck had put it there after removing it from where Mark had duct-taped it in his armpit – one of the last places to be damaged when a body burned. “It’s the, uh, file titled ‘Medical Shit’.” 

Without a word, Beck turned and accessed the thumb drive. 

Mark told himself that turn hadn’t been judgy, but. Well. It felt judgy. 

At the computer, Beck blew out a breath – huh, reacting to something, in doctor mode? That was really unusual - and returned. “We’ll wean you off, once your ribs are healed. For now you get to keep on with the good stuff.” 

Beck went back to prodding gently. 

“That’s it?” Mark demanded. 

“I’ll make the weaning process as easy as possible; your ribs and guts don’t need any dry heaves or intestinal upset.” Beck said absently. “Now. You’ll have to wait until the gravity’s back for a shower, do you want me to sponge you off?” 

Beck bathing him. His brain kind of melted. “Shower. I’ll wait.” 

–

Clean, with clean clothing – the Cubs sweatshirt from his mom made him tear up – freshly recycled air, and a few bites of food in him, gravity again, Mark felt better than he had in over a year. He was stuck in Sick Bay indefinitely, with Beck sleeping on a mattress on the floor (good thing for low gravity). He was dozing, too uncomfortable to really SLEEP, thanks to the damn broken ribs, but feeling pretty good, when Beck ducked out of the room silently. 

Mark hoped he was getting something to eat, guy had been working on him for hours, and involved in the rescue before that. 

He had never seen anything as good as Beck, floating in the busted window of that MAV, not ever in his life. 

Out in the hallway, he could hear soft gasps. 

Thing was, after that three month drive with only his own voice to listen to? He was pretty damned sensitized to sounds. Sounds he probably wasn’t supposed to be hearing. 

There was a soft scrape down the wall, and then sobs closer to ground level. 

Shit, someone was sitting on the floor out there, crying. Most likely over his dumb ass. Mark hesitated, not sure what to do. 

Out in the hall, there was what sounded like someone hyperventilating, and another soft noise that… that sure as hell had sounded like Beck. 

Whimpering. 

It occurred to Mark that going from EVA to doctoring without a breath, might have been pretty rough on more than himself. 

He started to sit up and listened to his heart monitor go wild, as he’d hoped. Goddamn, that hurt. He greyed out a little, held still until that eased, then continued trying to sit up. 

And there was Beck, grabbing him. “What are you doing?” 

Distracting him from an anxiety attack. Least he could do. “I need to use the head.” 

“You were just in there.” Beck grumbled, but helped him stand slowly. 

“What can I say, I’m excited. Like a puppy.” 

Beck gave a weak chuckle, and Mark glanced over at him, grinning. 

Beck’s eyes were red-rimmed, and he had circles under them, and they were the most beautiful sky blue – sky with ATMOSPHERE blue - with golden flecks. Mark wanted to lean into him and stay there for a couple years. 

...Huh. 

–

After an impossible amount of blood drawn, Beck began running it through analysis, and Mark began watching Beck’s face. He didn’t know the results yet, but they weren’t good. He was sure of his read when Beck pulled out MORE IV equipment. “I’ve already got an IV in!”

“Need to use the other arm.” Beck said shortly, and started laying all sorts of stuff out, including a really gnarly looking needle that made Mark lay his head back, close his eyes, and breathe slowly. 

“Why?” 

“Transfusion.” There was a pause. “A few small pinches, I’m giving you a local so setting the needle won’t hurt as much.” 

Mark opened his eyes and instead of watching the medical procedure, he watched Beck’s face. Beck was in full on doctor mode, with a scowl for good measure. “Where’d you get blood in space?” 

“Vogel. He’s O neg. Johanssen is too, you’ll get hers next.” 

All right. Even with the local he could feel the needle go in and he must have made a noise. 

Beck went still for a long second, eyes locked on his, then said “sorry” and went back to it. 

“Why do I need a transfusion? I’m not bleeding internally. AM I?” 

“No.” Beck hung a bag of, okay, blood, that was blood, and started it running. 

Mark shut his eyes again. “Talk. Now. You’re freaking me the fuck out.” Which he didn’t think he could even DO any more, not with impending death staring him in the face for over a year. 

“Your blood levels are bad.” 

“Which ones?” 

“All of them.” Beck was fussing, adjusting, re-checking his other IV, giving him more local injections around the transfusion site, and generally refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Beck.” 

He sighed. “You know how all those tests have a range of normal levels? There’s no perfect number, but you have an idea what’s right.” 

“Yeah?” 

“About half of them say you should be dead right now.” 

Mark started laughing. 

“This really isn’t funny.” Beck snarled. 

“Yeah, no, it’s HILARIOUS.” Mark assured him. “Ow ow, fuck, my ribs.” 

“You dick.” 

Mark went off into more gales of laughter, and Beck called him every imaginable name. It was so damn good to be back. 

–

Beck’s new hobby seemed to be ultra-sounding Mark’s innards around where the antenna had spiked through him. “I have concerns.” 

No kidding, that frown line between his eyebrows was deep enough to plant potatoes in.

Ha. 

“Can I eat solid food yet?” Mark asked from where he was flat across the exam table with his shirt hoiked up. 

“No.” Beck said absently, staring at the ultrasound screen. 

“Then tell me what’s going on.” Mark demanded. This had started two or three days after he’d gotten back aboard the Hermes. He’d been there six weeks now, and was still confined to liquids. While he’d been tapering off all the goddamn narcs, he hadn’t really argued the issue because he’d felt too nauseated anyway. But now? Now he felt fine, for stranded-for-a-year-plus-on-Mars definitions of fine anyway, and still the frown and the ultrasound and no solid foods. 

Beck sat the transponder aside, sighed, and rubbed his face. Mark kind of wanted to stroke his hair, but he’d been feeling that way a lot and was writing it off as touch deprivation and Martian psychosis. Whatever. “There’s a lot of scar tissue in there, and I don’t think the diet of potatoes did you any favors.” 

“I know it didn’t. What are the issues?” 

“The scar tissue has narrowed a portion of your small intestine. I can give you the jargon, but I’m not sure how regular solid food will do, getting through there. Not the amounts of solid food you need to eat. Starvation rations at least reduced the risk of blockage, there wasn’t that much mass to move through there.” 

Well, hell. “So…?” 

“Your nutrition is bad. You NEED solid food. You’re risking protein starvation and have about twenty nutrient deficiencies.” 

Mark knew this very well, because Beck complained about it constantly. “I could try some food, see what happens?” 

Beck actually blanched, which was something to see on the guy; usually he had one hell of a medical poker face. “The last thing you want is a blockage, that high up. We’d have to remove a chunk of your upper intestine to fix it.” 

That did not sound fun. 

“Solutions?” Work the problem. Identify the problem, identify solutions, go with the one least likely to kill him. He was used to this by now, it shouldn’t surprise him he was still at it because he was on the Hermes. 

“I’m sending some pictures back to Houston, and the doctors there will analyze-” 

“Beck. You’re the one here. You know what options we have. What are they?” 

Beck rubbed his hands over his face, second time in one session, this must be really bad. “The most low-risk option I can think of is going in and trying to remove the scar tissue.” 

Well, he’d done similar surgery on himself. “Would I be knocked out this time? Because that was not such a pleasant experience the last time.” 

To his surprise, Beck shuddered and hugged himself. What? Beck cleared his throat. “Yeah. For sure we’d knock you out. It’s just...” 

“Just that if you poke the wrong thing the wrong way, my intestines will leak into my abdominal cavity and peritonitis will kill me really horribly.” He smiled when Beck’s head jerked up and he stared. “Not my first rodeo. I feel safer having you do it, than doing it myself. A trillion times over.” 

He’d not mention the OD of morphine and barbs that he’d had within reach for his round of self-surgery. After he’d done some quick research, he’d decided he wasn’t going to die of peritonitis; if things went down that way, to hell with heroism. 

“This is usually done with precision surgical robots, and trained assistants, and-” Beck began. 

“And the last time it was done, I did it by myself on Mars, in the HAB. Trust me. It’ll be fine.” Beck shuddered again. Mark wondered what was going on. He laid his hand on Beck’s shoulder. “Come on man, I’m like a cockroach.” 

He was even more worried when Beck didn’t laugh. 

– 

In the end, of course he needed another round of surgery. In space. This didn’t really surprise Mark, because he’d been the one to do the surgery in the first place. Not shocking he didn’t get it right. “I’ll be fine.” He told everyone. “Last guy who worked on me was a BOTANIST, and I survived that!” 

Weak smiles around the table, except for Beck, whose eye baggage was even worse; the circles could ring Saturn. The guy had always taken their health seriously, but he’d never been completely lacking a sense of humor before. “Everybody clear out a minute, let me have a word with Beck, before we start this?” He asked. 

Of course they did, because they were the best crew ever and genuinely nice people. (Knowing NASA picked them for that didn’t make him love them any less.) “Hey buddy, what’s up?” 

Beck glanced at him, then away. “I can’t… I can’t talk about this right now. I need to stay focused.” 

“After.” Mark decided. 

Beck gave a jerky nod. “All right.” 

“Come back in, nerds!” he called toward the hatch. 

The rest of the gang shuffled in, except for Martinez, who was standing watch over the rest of the ship. “Can we get a line to Martinez?” 

“Sure.” Johanssen said, and made short work of it. “There you go.” 

“I wanted to say...” Mark cleared his throat. “No matter what happens here, it’s all right. The fact that you assholes came back for me? Mutinied for me? Thank you. You rescued me. You saved me. If this doesn’t work out, well, luck of the draw. But you did it.” 

Everyone stared at their feet, nodding. 

“Right. Beck, knock me out.” 

Beck took a long, deep breath, nodded, and thankfully, did. 

– 

He woke up again, which was pretty awesome. Mark was going to Vegas when he got back on Earth, or betting on ponies. Something. Clearly he was a statistical anomaly. He needed to work that. 

You know, more than he already had. 

Beck was asleep in a chair beside him, his hand on Mark’s right wrist, fingertips pressed to his pulse. He looked even worse than he had before the surgery, which wasn’t reassuring in any way. 

“How’d it go, Doc?” He asked, throat rough. Ugh. Intubation. 

Beck’s eyes opened, but he didn’t otherwise move. Those beautiful blue eyes were bloodshot and tired, worried. But alert. “We took out a bunch of scar tissue but didn’t have to remove any intestine. Once we got in there, it was, well, not better than I’d hoped, but not as bad as it could have been.” 

“Cool. So, solid food?” He was starting to dream about steaks. Which, still months and months to go for that, but still. 

“In a couple days.” 

“Are you okay?” Mark had to ask. 

Beck blinked. “Uh… yes? You’re the one on the exam table.” 

Maybe. But it had occurred to Mark, belatedly, that one of the major factors of PTSD was feeling helpless in the face of trauma. Whatever else he’d had felt on Mars, it wasn’t helpless, not often; he’d been too busy saving his own ass. But for the crew? Maybe he wasn’t going to win the PTSD award for this whole clusterfuck. “You’re the one who has saved my ass, what, twice now? No, three times, really, counting general medical care.” 

That was… somehow the wrong thing to say. “Get some rest, okay?” Beck walked from the room. 

Mark listened hard, but didn’t hear anything. Stubborn bastard probably locked himself in his lab to have another anxiety attack. Damn it. 

– 

After that, things got better. For everyone. With solid food, Mark started putting on weight and feeling a lot healthier. The rest of his pressure sores, scrapes, bruises, and the second surgery site all healed up finally, now that his body had the resources to do it. 

Beck lost the pinched look on his face the second or third time Mark got to the gym and did some light yoga. He was still dogging Mark pretty heavily, though, and to Mark’s surprise he didn’t even mind. On the trip out, they’d gotten along all right, but Beck had kept a certain distance between himself and the rest of the crew; Mark thought it was the doctor thing. But now, well, moving to the end of year TWO, good grief, he’d loosened up around everyone. His dry, easy sense of humor went well in the mix of louder and/or more geeky personalities. 

They never had the after-surgery talk about Beck being okay. Mark tried a couple times, and Beck had escaped each time, and Mark gave up. 

Mark kept noticing things, though. Beck had these really long, dark eyelashes. Mark didn’t even remember noticing eyelashes on WOMEN, but Beck would do these slow, tired blinks at dinner sometimes and Mark wanted to stop everything and watch. His hands… it followed that a surgeon would have really deft hands, but, uh. His hands. He could swear the paint off the hull, if he was angry enough and he thought no one could hear him. His lips were a perfect bow. And he got five o’clock shadow about fifteen minutes after shaving, and it accentuated his cheek bones. There was a hoo-hoo laugh he did, when he was genuinely amused, versus a polite chuckle when he was being nice about Mark and Martinez’ jokes. 

Beck LOVED EVAs. Loved them. So much that as long as he’d had enough rest between them, Lewis ditched the roster and let Beck do all of them, the whole way home. Need to dust off the solar panels? Beck would be in air lock whichever, grinning and humming while he pulled on his gear. 

He wasn’t even going to start on that ass. Or his chest. How in hell did anyone have that much muscle definition, after over two years in space? They were still sharing quarters, and Beck pulled off his shirt one night and Mark nearly swallowed his tongue. A hairy chest should not look that good. 

Every once in a while, in the evening quiet, Mark would find him sitting against a wall in the gym, staring out the window AWAY from Earth, looking heart-breakingly sad. 

Mark wanted to touch him. 

So apparently a year and so on Mars, all by yourself, could change your priorities. Or sexuality. Or wants. Or something. 

Well, it’d either wear off by the time they all got to Earth, or when he got there he’d talk to some shrinks and figure out what the hell to do with it. 

Beck didn’t need to deal with Mark’s heterosexual confusion on top of everything else. That was one thing Mark was ABSOLUTELY sure of. It wasn’t like it would be acted on anyway; it would violate Beck’s code of ethics about ten different ways and the guy had saved his life pretty dramatically. More than once. Least he could do in return was not be an asshole. 

Besides, he’d drop dead if he tried to have sex right now. He was still horribly underweight and malnourished. 

Martian Psychosis. It’d go away. 

– 

The night before they landed back on Earth, Beck came screaming out of a nightmare in the middle of the night. Mark was asleep in the room with him at the time and he was up and moving before he even processed it. He knelt by Beck, hesitated a split second, then laid a hand on his shoulder. “Beck?” 

Beck rolled away from him, gasping for air. Which kind of hurt; they’d been bunking together for over seven months and had some pretty significant discussions in the dark. (Not about the attraction. Never about that. Or about how Beck was doing, other than in very broad general terms.) Mark was pretty sure he was crying, so he sat cross-legged on the floor next to the mattress where Beck had been sleeping, and kept his hand on his shoulder.

“It’s the night before we land.” Mark said easily. “Everything’s a go, our families are all in Houston to meet us. Everything’s all right.” 

Beck took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped his face, and rolled to his back. “Sorry.” 

“For returning the favor?” Mark asked dryly; he’d had a few major nightmares himself the last few months, and Beck had been stuck dealing with them. 

“Yeah.” Chris said softly, and rolled over, pretending to go back to sleep. 

Well, tomorrow the shrinks would get their hands on him, and they’d straighten his ass out. Mark shook his head, and crawled back into his own bunk. 

– 

Finally, FINALLY, they landed. Descent was… not fun. All the Gs reminded him of getting off Mars. But they landed, and were pulled out of the module, and Mark knelt on the ground and kissed it. Then he couldn’t get up again without passing out so he crawled over to a plot of grass and decided to lay there a while, it was NICE, and they had to haul him off in a stretcher. The media got photos of him splayed out, shooting a peace sign in the air. NASA’s PR person was pissed. Beck yelled at him – which he had never done before, ever. The doctors worried that he’d picked up some random germ, rolling on the ground. 

He was going to do it again as soon as he could. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shrinks always said the dumbest shit. He’d forgotten how annoying they were, with Beck looking after him. Beck was pretty clever at the psych end of things. It was weird, because Mark would start by thinking Beck was a hopeless nerd with no social skills, and then he’d turn around and Beck had tricked him into talking about how he felt for fifteen minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh - and the entire fic is finished. I'll be posting it gradually over the next couple days. Seven or eight chapters, and an epilogue.

Landing on Earth might have been the best day of Chris’ life. They finally had the resources to properly take care of Mark, and specialists for days, and while he would always think of himself as his crew’s doctor, he legally wasn’t any more, and could relax. 

He did. 

Most of the first day, he simply laid around and did nothing. He was with the others in Isolation (more for the sake of their own immune systems than anything else) and reveled in the fact that Mark was out being examined by the world’s best doctors, and he breathed easily for the first time since he’d heard Mark was still alive. 

“You okay, there, Beck?” Johanssen asked. 

“Never better.” He told her, and meant it. 

She had saved them, Chris thought. Beyond all the computer and technology magic she had worked, on their second way back from Mars Johanssen decided everyone was touch-starved and started flopping down next to people in Rec, hugging people in the halls, and generally being a bratty little sister to the entire crew. She instituted a movie night, which they probably should have done sooner, and insisted everyone ‘puppy pile’ for the proper movie night experience. It had visibly lowered everyone’s stress levels to get such simple human contact. 

Then in her spare time, she’d re-written most of the operating system for Hermes, because she was so disgusted with the one she’d been working with. (“I wrote this all wrong… what was I thinking?”) She’d told him on the sly that if her health checked out, she planned to use it to bribe NASA into letting her off the planet again. 

He sincerely wished her luck. 

He was an EVA specialist who didn’t think he could get into another ship without an anxiety attack. The doctor thing meant he still had skills, of course, and apparently they all had job offers from every relevant organization on the planet. 

Chris didn’t know if he’d miss space, or vomit at the offer of it. 

But none of it mattered. They were back, and all he had to do was chill in Isolation for a while, talk to shrinks and doctors, write some papers, and figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. As of now, no one’s life depended on him. 

Especially not Mark’s. 

The guy he’d pronounced dead to begin the entire mess. 

– 

“Well, Doctor Watney, you’ve been through an experience.” The shrink started with. 

Shrinks always said the dumbest shit. He’d forgotten how annoying they were, with Beck looking after him. Beck was pretty clever at the psych end of things. It was weird, because Mark would start by thinking Beck was a hopeless nerd with no social skills, and then he’d turn around and Beck had tricked him into talking about how he felt for fifteen minutes. 

There was a hell of a lot more to Beck than a pretty face and a genius IQ, and Mark wanted to dig into that, get to know him, and oh, hey, there was a topic they could discuss. 

“This is confidential, right?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“I think Mars turned me gay.” He paused, pretended to consider it. “Well. Bisexual. Demisexual maybe? I don’t know. Something not as hetero as I was.” 

The shrink’s mouth was hanging open, and she seemed completely at a loss. 

“Radiation exposure is supposed to give us super powers, right? Maybe being bisexual is mine.” He flexed his biceps. 

The shrink clearly had no idea where to start. 

Ha, he still had it. 

– 

Mark had forgotten what Earth Beck was like. You know, the guy without the crushing responsibilities of keeping everyone including his sorry ass alive. He tried not to stare. They were still moving slowly, getting used to full gravity, but Beck had adapted faster than the rest of them, graceful and sure, the same as he adapted to EVA suits and extended missions and mostly-starved Martians in his Sick Bay. 

Instead of the usual ship’s suit or the occasional NASA sweat shirt Beck had worn since Mark had met him, Beck walked in wearing a threadbare Yale tee shirt and equally beat up jeans. Barefoot, of all things. His hair was a mess, and he hadn’t shaved in at least a day. The whiskers accentuated his cheekbones and the perfect bow of his lips, and the shirt draped over his still-impressive muscles, as did the jeans. 

Mark idly wondered what it would be like to kiss someone with stubble. That’d be different. But it sounded good. Interesting. He was a scientist. He lived for ‘interesting’. 

“Mom sent us a triple batch of chocolate chip cookies!” he told them all, smiling widely like he had never done, not once, while on board the Hermes. He dropped the box on the table, and opened it. Everyone reached forward to take one, and Beck grinned, grabbed a cookie, and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. Everyone froze and stared. “Wha?” he asked them around the cookie. 

“Sorry.” Martinez said, then stuffed an entire cookie in his mouth, too. “We’re used to you nagging us about our diets.” 

“I’m not your doctor any more.” Beck smiled again at all of them, dropped into a chair, and ate another cookie while they all continued to stare. “We need milk.” He got up again, going to poke around the fridge in the cafeteria that was dedicated to them while they were in Isolation. He bent over, and his ass and thighs looked majestic in the worn jeans. 

Maybe it wasn’t Martian Psychosis after all, Mark reflected. 

“Martian Psychosis? What the hell you talking about, man?” Martinez demanded. 

Instead of dropping immediately into Counselor Beck like he would have on board, the guy shook his head and laughed again. 

–

“I’m worried about Beck.” Mark told his shrink. 

Hey, it beat talking about his own bullshit, and it was even true. 

The shrink’s eyes sharpened and she asked smoothly “Why is that?” 

“I don’t think anyone appreciated the stress he was under, keeping us all alive for an extended, unplanned expedition as well as my famine victim self rolling in, in the middle of it.” 

“Really.” 

“He’s like a different person now, out from under the responsibilities.” 

“Interesting.” 

Ugh, fine, then. 

“I’m still not eating any potatoes, and you can’t make me.” 

So there. 

– 

Chris woke up on the day he was supposed to be getting out of Isolation, to sparkles in his left eye. “Oh, FUCK.” He shut his eyes again, tried to joggle his head as little as possible, and reached for the emergency button. One press later and he was being given an eye exam – still without having moved – and then lifted carefully to a stretcher. 

“What’s going on?” Lewis, out in the hall, using her Commander voice. 

“Go ahead and tell ‘em, doc.” Chris said. He couldn’t see anyone’s faces, his eyes bandaged over, but he could hear the stress in Lewis’ voice and a whole lot of what sounded like his crew, grumbling. Normally, even in these circumstances, a doctor would refuse to give out health details to anyone but another doctor or a family member, but the crew would hound the poor bastard to death and they’d know soon enough anyway. 

“We’re reasonably sure that Doctor Beck has a detached retina. As you know yourselves, eye problems are very common, especially after the amount of time you’ve all spent in low gravity. We’re taking him to the eye clinic to do further tests and then very likely immediate surgery to correct the issue.” 

He’d never planned to stay at NASA, Chris reflected, but this absolutely ended the discussion. His last EVAs had been to catch Mark Watney and keep the Hermes running far past her lifetime, getting back to Earth. He kind of liked that. Sort of a proper ending to his time as an astronaut. Fixing his most supreme fuckup. 

There was more shuffling and a broad, hard hand closed around his, tight. “You need anything?” Mark asked. 

Chris squeezed the hand back gratefully, glad for some human contact. The stretcher started moving, and apparently Mark was keeping pace, not letting go. That was nice. He hung on for as long as he thought was appropriate, then squeezed again, hard, and let go. “It’ll be fine. I think I caught the problem really early, helps that I’m a doctor and all.” 

“Yeah.” Mark said, sounding kind of sad. “Thank goodness for that.” 

The final upshot was laser surgery, and then while the rest of the crew was being allowed more freedom, he was stuck in further monitoring and rehab with Mark. Mark got ever-increasing exercise and food. Chris got to lay around a lot with his eyes shut, to not jar his eyes as he healed. 

Hell. 

– 

“Group therapy?” Mark asked blankly, looking at the rest of the crew in the circle. They all shrugged at him. He turned to his asshole shrink. “Is that a normal thing, after a mission?” 

“It is not.” Vogel put in helpfully. 

The shrink nodded politely at Vogel and folded her hands. “It isn’t, but we – all of the psych staff – have concerns about lingering resentment. About Doctor Watney getting left on Mars, about everyone else having to go back for him.” 

Mark was blinking, his mouth hanging open. 

Martinez snapped “Jesus, lady, way to ambush him. Great technique.” He glared for a moment, and turned to Mark. “Going back to get you was correcting our mistake. I don’t resent you for it, but I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you hated all of us.” 

“I don’t hate any of you.” Mark said wearily. Shit, he hadn’t even considered that they might think it, or he’d have said something sooner. “You did what you had to do, leaving me there. Then you did a hell of a lot more than you had to do, to come back and get me.” Fuck, if they were gonna be honest about it, “I actually feel kind of guilty, I know this has messed up all your lives in a major way.” 

“It has not ‘messed up’.” Vogel said with great dignity. “It has created different opportunities.” 

“No way would I have had time to do the coding I got done, if I was here.” Johanssen said with an easy shrug. “Plus, you know. Rescue our crewmate. Of course we were going to come get you.” 

“Still-” Mark started. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Beck interrupted, staring at his hands folded in his lap. “It was mine. All of it, start to finish. If I hadn’t-” he actually sobbed, once, then pulled it back in, “hadn’t declared you dead, none of this would have happened.” 

“No, because you’d have stayed, kept looking for me, missed the departure window, and all of us would have starved on Mars or some had to abandon others. It was a fucking mess as it was; doing anything other than what you did would have made it worse.” Mark told him. WHY HAD THEY WAITED TO TALK ABOUT THIS? Why hadn’t any of them SAID anything? 

“Wouldn’t have left.” Martinez grumbled. 

Beck broke down. Completely. 

Mark rose immediately. “Get out.” he told the shrink. “Give me your seat.” he said to Martinez, who was sitting next to Beck. He was aware of Vogel and Lewis throwing the shrink out of the room, but his attention was all on Beck. Chris. 

He raised his eyes to Mark, and choked out, “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, all of it.” 

“The hell it is.” Mark replied, then reached out and pulled Chris into his arms. 

Chris sobbed again, and clutched Mark’s shirt, turning his face into Mark’s neck. Mark put one hand on the back of Chris’ head, the other around his shoulders, and hung on tight. “Shhh. Shhh, it’s all right. You’re fine. I’m alive, we’re back on Earth, nobody hates anybody, and you have to stop crying before your ophthalmologist comes in and kills us all.” 

After the eye thing, Chris was supposed to be avoiding any jarring or sudden shifts in blood pressure, and Mark was sure this wasn’t what the guy needed. He looked up, still hanging on to Chris. “Any of you other idiots feeling like this?” 

“Uh, yeah, but not as strongly?” Johanssen answered, sitting down on Chris’ other side and rubbing his back. After a moment she gave up on that, wrapped an arm around Chris’ waist from behind, and leaned against him. 

“I’ll always regret leaving you, but I agree with your assessment that it was the only thing to do at the time.” Lewis said, meeting his eyes levelly. 

Mark nodded back at her. You could always count on Lewis to be rational. “Good. Thank you.” 

Chris had stopped sobbing but was still leaning into Mark, and Mark was willing to hang on to him forever if that’s what it took and damn, this wasn’t Martian Psychosis at ALL, he knew what this was. 

Goddamn life-changing revelations were always so goddamn inconvenient. Just once he’d like one at a GOOD time. 

He reached up, cupped his hands on either side of Chris’ face, and lifted it so he could look in those beautiful eyes. They were still wet, the lashes spiky, and Mark indulged himself and ran his thumbs over those killer cheek bones, once. “I do not blame you. I never blamed you, and knowing that you declared me dead and got everyone else off that hellscape planet only makes me grateful that no one else had to live through that with me. You saved my life. Over and over. The entire way home. I owe you my life. Do you believe me?” 

He shut his eyes, took a long, shuddering breath, and nodded once. 

“Okay.” Mark said. He pulled Chris back down to press against his shoulder, and was kind of worried that Chris did without resisting. Mark laid a hand over the back of Chris’ neck, then looked around at everyone else, glaring. All of them looked varying degrees of worried or upset. “Sit down, we’re going to settle this.” 

– 

In the morning, Mark was told he had a new psychologist. Booyah. 

– 

It was the scent that woke Mark up. Petrichor. The scent of rain disturbing the surface of plants, knocking up all sorts of dust and bacteria into the air. When he and Beck got out of Isolation, they’d insisted on a room with a window, and then agreed immediately to leave it open at all times. Staff kept closing it when they weren’t there, and Mark would throw it open again as soon as he returned. 

Rain. Actual fuckin’ RAIN. Water, falling out of the sky. 

He pulled on some jeans and slipped out of the room, going down the hall and knocking on doors. Two in the morning, or nearly, the place was silent and his crew had been so attuned for three years, doors immediately opened and it took almost nothing beyond ‘rain’ for him to get nods and a plan was laid out with few words. 

Mark, Vogel, and Martinez went and found a reclined wheelchair for Beck, and slipped back into Mark’s room. 

“Beck.” Mark patted his arm. “Yo. Beck.” 

He awoke with a jerk. “Status.” 

“Rain.” Mark replied with a wild grin he exchanged with Vogel and Martinez. “Come on.”

It took less time than expected to get Beck into a pair of sweats and lifted into the chair. But then they’d worked seamlessly as a team through hell and back. 

“My doctors are gonna kill me.” Beck commented, laughing. 

“Shhhh!” Everyone told him. Mark pressed his music player into Beck’s hands, and they all silently slipped down the hall to the elevator, then down to the courtyard of the health facility where they’d been staying. 

It was pouring by the time they got there, and puddles had formed on the flagstones. Mark went and simply stood with his bare feet in one, and turned his face to the sky. RAIN. “Never thought I’d get this again.” He said, mostly to himself. 

Martinez hugged him from one side, and Johanssen from the other. “Aw.” He chuckled and hugged them back. Vogel was running his foot through another puddle, grinning in delight, and Lewis simply stood with her arms out, face to the sky. 

Beck was smiling for the first time in a week, face turned up, bandages still over his eyes as rain poured down on him. 

Right, time to get the party started. Mark took the music player from Beck, fiddled until he got some reggae going, and put it in a relatively dry spot under a tree. “Now then, Commander Lewis, may I have this dance?” 

She beamed, hair already drenched and dripping. “Absolutely, Doctor Watney.” 

Martinez and Johanssen were getting down, and Vogel was wheeling Beck in slow circles as they both laughed. 

It was a really, really good night. 

Until security caught them. They got in a few more dances after that before psych showed up and hauled them back to their rooms. 

Next time it rained, they intended to do it again. 

–

“So, Doctor Watney. Can you explain why you woke up your entire crew at two in the morning, and hauled them out to dance in the rain?” 

“Oh my fucking god. You’re kidding me, right?” 

–

Rain dance parties became a thing. Especially at night. Eventually psych declared it was good for them, or some bullshit, and left them alone. 

–

Chris was laying in his bed, as he had been almost constantly since he’d lost it and cried on Mark’s shoulder like a baby. Except for the dance party. The eye specialists had NOT been amused by either one. He’d required a quick laser touch-up after the crying, but got off with a lot of yelling for the dance party. He was stuck on bed rest until they were sure his retina had healed. He hadn’t gone this long without exercise since he’d been in middle school, and it was making him twitchy. All the time laying around with a compress over his eyes made him better than ever at picking out sounds, so he could tell when Mark came in and dropped into his own bed in the room they were sharing. 

(They’d insisted. They’d both gotten another round of really intense psych after. He was trying to respect their superior, more extensive training, far beyond his own, but he was really close to telling them that until they spent years in space to rescue a guy they’d declared dead on Mars, they could fuck off with what they considered an appropriate response. Plus he and Mark had gotten really good at waking each other up out of nightmares.) 

“You awake?” Mark asked, his voice low and rough. He’d been having a rough couple days, and wouldn’t tell Chris why. All he would say was that Chris had to worry about his blood pressure, which wasn’t comforting. Mark now always sounded a little bit different than Before; Chris didn’t know if it was the constant talking to himself on Mars, something he’d breathed there, or what. The doctors insisted his thyroid was all right; Chris might have asked them to check it a couple-five times. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” Chris said, equally soft. 

“Can we kick around ideas of where we go from here without either one of us having a guilt-fest?” Mark asked bluntly. 

Chris appreciated that about Mark; when he had an issue, he waded straight into it. “I’ll try if you will.” 

Chris would always feel bad about leaving Mark on Mars. (“My bio monitor was dead, Beck. What, you’re not fuckin' psychic? Leave it be, already.” had been the last statement about it.) Mark, surprisingly, was feeling equally guilty about what all of them had done to their professional and personal lives, and health, to go back and get him. While Chris’ eye problems were the most dramatic, Mark and Vogel were also having them, and all of them had maybe-permanently screwed up circadian rhythm. 

Mark gave a rumble of amusement, not quite a laugh, and sounded like he’d flopped over in bed. “On that red bastard planet, once in a while I’d let myself think about what I’d do, after I got home.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Figured I’d go back to the Peace Corps. Go to some jungle, some leafy green place completely unlike Mars, teach people how to grow their own food. Could feel like what I learned was good for something, you know?” 

“Sounds like a nice plan.” Mark would always feel most easy, surrounded by plants. Chris would miss him, while he was off in his jungle. 

“Well, now I’ve got a bunch of schools offering me doctorates in mechanical engineering and agriculture, if I write up how the hell I stayed alive.” 

Chris let himself smile at the ceiling. “You should do that. Least you deserve, get some respect from the academics.” 

“Then there’s the fame thing.” Mark continued. 

“Yeah, I don’t know about you, but it’s weird as hell for me.” Chris confessed. They’d all done press conferences, at least half a dozen, for NASA. “You were a fucking hero again, for working it around to help the crew, though.” 

“Of course I would.” Mark had refused to do any press for NASA whatsoever, until any and all investigations, charges, and grudges were dropped against Mitch (for sending them the Purnell Maneuver data without permission) and the crew (for the mutiny). He’d also worked out some freedom from having his entire future medically monitored, and voluntary exits from NASA contracts from anyone on the crew who’d wanted them; Lewis was the only one who took the out, besides Mark and Chris. The media meant literally billions of dollars in funding for NASA, so they’d had to suck it up and agree. “But it got me thinking.” 

Chris made a curious noise. This reminded him so much of laying in Sick Bay with the lights low, while Mark was recovering. Except this time they were fine, and on Earth, and Chris wasn’t standing alone between Mark and the Reaper, armed only with a handful of inadequate medical supplies. 

“Somebody – I forget who – once said, you could spend fame like you spend money, use it to get what you want. And it really worked smoothly with NASA, didn’t it?” 

This would be interesting. “It really did.” 

“I could get those doctorates, use them and the fame to revolutionize world agriculture. Anyone who knows anything about it knows it’s a mess. It needs fixed. Remember the bees, and it still took how long to ban that pesticide?” 

Chris did remember, from his own biology studies. “Yeah.” 

“I might be the only guy on Earth who could pull it off. At least push through some reforms. No one wants to say no to the Pirate King. AND I could still work with the Peace Corps, on teaching people how to grow their food sustainably.” 

Chris laughed. “Yeah. If anyone could do it, it’d be you.” With his combination of brains and charm, and the underlying ruthlessness that most people never saw until he’d cut them off at the knees. The look on Sanders’ face when Mark had laid out his deal with NASA, to agree to media coverage? That had been priceless. Sanders had watched the guy survive alone for almost two years, and was still surprised when Mark went for the jugular. It was really amazing. 

“How about you?” Mark asked. 

Oh, well. “I’m done at NASA. Even if my eyes weren’t shot,” he paused as Mark made a sound. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Anyway, even with a clean bill of health… those fuckers let me think you were dead for MONTHS, might have let us get all the way back to Earth without mentioning it, if the Iris hadn’t blown up. We should never have had to mutiny to get them to agree to us going back for you. If you can’t trust Mission Control...” 

“I get that.” 

“So I was thinking of getting back into doctoring.” 

“You never left it.” 

“Well no,” Chris admitted, “but on-planet is a whole different ball game. Lots more germs, to start.” 

“Of course.” 

“The feds want me to redo my last year of residency, to prove I’ve still got it.” Chris said in annoyance. “I think it’s really that they’re getting off on jerking me around.” 

Mark started laughing. And didn’t stop. It went on long enough that Chris let himself smile a little before he finally threw a pillow in the direction of the sound. 

“Hey. None of that, no sudden moves. I talked to your doctors.” 

Of course he had, meddler. “Anyway, if I do that-” 

“Shit, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall for that.” Mark said, still giggling. “You’re going to hit about month two, MAYBE three, get disgusted taking orders, and take over.” 

Probably. Chris could imagine it, easily. “That’s not how residency works.” 

Mark laughed again, the asshole. “Where are you thinking of going? We could share an apartment.” 

That sounded so good, to be able to keep track of him, know where he was. And that also sounded maybe not so healthy. “The shrinks would give us hell for being dangerously co-dependent.” 

“Share a city, then.” Mark replied easily. “You need a keeper.” 

“Me? You’re the one who wandered off and wound up Pirate King of Mars. You told the reporters at our first press conference you’d claimed Mars in your name under maritime law, and that everyone needed your permission for further exploration. Everyone in the press corps thought you’d lost it and I think Montrose had an actual stroke.” 

Mark kept on laughing. 

“Anyway, I start in July. Before that, I want to write a couple papers on what we did to fix you up on the way home, while it’s fresh in my mind. You game to help? The dictation software doesn’t like a lot of the technical terminology, and I can’t see it to correct it.” They still weren’t sure if Chris would come out of this with any vision at all. “And with you being my assistant, I don’t have to worry about privacy issues, of someone else finding out details of your health.” 

“Sure. Whatever you want, we can do that.” 

Chris sighed, long and heavy. “Thanks.” Even if it turned out he was legally blind, he could still do research, he’d just cancel the residency and give up on the doctor gig. Which would kind of suck, because he was afraid life was going to get to feel boring, after the last three years of constant mayhem. Maybe he’d get used to it, but he thought he was going to have to ease back into a quiet life. 

–

“If Aquaman can control fish, what’s he doing telling whales what to do? They’re aquatic mammals.” 

“Can you tell me where you are, Doctor Watney?” 

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know medical licensing isn't federal. BUT IT SHOULD BE.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your method of testing a hypothesis is a blowie.” 
> 
> “I can’t believe you just used the word ‘blowie’.” 
> 
> “I’m an ER doc. I’ve heard and seen everything. Please at least tell me you used a condom.” 
> 
> “Yes, Doctor Beck, I used a condom.”

They wound up in Boston. Chris was doing his re-residency at Mass General. He was planning to go into trauma medicine and work in the ER; he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to handle long-term doctor-patient relationships again. Besides, a guy needed a LITTLE excitement, right? Mark sort of felt sorry for them; they had no idea who or what they were in for. Mark himself was knocking around between Harvard and MIT, doing his double doctorates. Since all he had to do was write a couple theses (nothing compared to living the ‘research’), he was hoping to be done in a year, about when Chris was finished. Then he’d follow Chris to wherever he decided to go, if Chris would let him. 

They found a bar, pub sort of place, and started hanging out there in the evenings when Chris wasn’t putting in two-day shifts at the hospital. Mark would sit in the back with a computer and do edits, and most evenings Chris would wander in after his shift, or a day of doing laundry, or a run. He’d get a glass of wine (only Chris, wine in a pub), and come sit. Mark didn’t want to examine too much why the high point of his day was Chris walking into a pub and smiling at him. Well, he already knew he had it bad for the guy, right? No big reveal. 

“Hey.” Mark said as casually as possible. 

“Good day, writing?” Chris asked, dropping into the seat across from him. 

“Eh.” Remembering the details of how he’d broken down the rocket fuel for water had given him an anxiety attack. Only a couple meds and the prospect of seeing Chris had gotten him out of his apartment. 

“Mm.” Chris agreed, drank some wine. 

“Bad day?” Mark asked. Chris was still getting his bearings at the hospital, trying to navigate between the young doctors going through the program for the first time who’d been together for years, and the staff. All of whom were either in awe of or resentful of him. Discounting all the other reasons, Mark was so glad he’d come along, to support Chris through the bullshit he was dealing with. 

Chris pushed his wine aside, laid his head on the table. “Fuck. I spent too much time in space with you and Johanssen and Martinez and completely lost all my social skills.” 

Mark let himself grin. “Yeah?” Stories from the hospital were either hilarious (involving the staff), or horrifying (involving patients). 

“We all got shoved into this lecture room today, introductory crap from the guy in charge of the last year of the program, right?” 

“Okay.” The thing was, Chris had already done this once, so the challenge and fear were gone. He was plodding through to make the licensing boards happy. Unfortunately, he looked young enough that he blended into the rest of the herd of residents and Doctor Christopher Beck often got lost in the shuffle. He mostly didn’t like the fame, but people pretending not to recognize him, or treating him like a clueless idiot, were worse. 

“Guy stands up, starts in on what we’re going to be doing this year, lectures, rounds, the usual. And he says ‘this will be the hardest thing you ever do’.” 

“Uh huh.” Mark said carefully. That might be true for most of them… 

“I started laughing. Could not stop. Hardest thing I’ll ever do. Tears running down my face, gasping for air. All the kids are edging away from me, hoping they won’t get caught in the blast when this guy unloads on me, and he’s glaring at me like I’m a worm.” 

“Whoops.” 

“Right? Kept trying to catch my breath to apologize, or at least shut the hell up, and he says ‘what is it you’ve done, that you think is harder than this?’” 

Mark couldn’t help but grin. “When they set themselves up like that...” 

“I know. So I said medically, it was probably doing abdominal surgery in forty percent gravity with limited resources and no trained assistants, but for plain old HARD, it was probably the EVA when I grabbed on to that damn MAV and pulled you out of it.” 

“And then?” 

“Ringing silence, for at least a full minute, then the guy skipped on to the next topic without even acknowledging me.” 

“Nice.” 

“He’s going to carry a grudge to the end of time, and do his best to make my life a living hell.” 

“Assholes like that always do.” 

“Some of the kids high-fived me, so that’s something.” 

Mark tapped his beer mug against Chris’ wine glass. “Told you it was going to be awesome.” 

–

Mark was giving himself one year with Chris, before he confessed all. In case Chris didn’t want him back. 

It was surprisingly easy to be in love with his best friend. It was just there. How could he not love the guy? Chris would do that little lip-quirk half smile thing, and Mark wanted to kiss him. He never got tired of watching Chris’ hands, typing or gesturing as he spoke, or taking care of people. This was it for him. He didn’t think he’d feel this way again, and it was fine. Chris Beck was a once in a lifetime gift. But he wanted to be able to assure Chris, when the time came, that he wasn’t going to have some freak-out, later. 

Plus he’d been, uh, testing his hypothesis a little. Other men, they didn’t disgust him, but they didn’t make him rev like Chris did. Women didn’t, either, any more. Apparently one and a half years of isolation made him demisexual. Solitary existence, needed emotional connections more than he used to, blah blah. He hated when the shrinks were right. 

“How’d it go today?” Mark asked when Chris opened his apartment door. Mark was carrying a pizza, Chris had a beer. They traded. 

“Fucking idiots.” Chris stalked back to the living room, put the pizza on the coffee table, and paced. 

Mark lived for these evenings, when Chris had finished his weekly forty-eight hour hell-shift and they ate takeout together. Chris would let himself go like he never had on the Hermes, ranting and swearing, and Mark thought it was better than a movie. He dropped to the couch, took a swig of beer and a slice of pizza, and waited to enjoy Not Doctor Beck, without the medical poker face. 

“Had a homeless person wind up in the ER today. Vitamin D deficiency. Bad, late stage.” 

“Ah.” Mark nodded. That had to bring up some horrible memories. As he recalled, that one hadn’t been one of his issues, at least. Specifically. Nutrient deficiencies in general made Chris a little bonkers these days. At one point on the Hermes, Vogel and Chris had been hand-making nutritional supplements for him, because they didn’t have the actual meds needed to straighten him out. He remembered laying in bed listening to the two of them mutter over pages and pages of chemistry, trying to find a way to trick his body into accepting whatever form of a nutrient they happened to have on hand. 

“The point they’re at, they’re probably done for, but the asshole in charge was trying to tell them they were fine, to move them out of the ER. Put them back on the street with no treatment, because they’re dying anyway. Let ‘em die miserable and alone, in pain, because taking them in, OUR JOB, would cost money.” 

“So you stepped in.” Oh yes, Doctor Beck was making friends. 

“Hell yes I stepped in.” 

“How’d that work out?” 

“I made Harris recite the Hippocratic Oath and then asked him if he took any of it seriously.” 

Mark choked a little on his beer. He wondered if he could get Johanssen to hack in and get him the security video of that. “...this is your boss, right? Mister ‘this will be the worst year of your life’?” 

Chris made a disgusted noise. “That’s the guy. For what it’s worth. What are they gonna do? Fire me? Flunk me out? Have the entire planet’s media come swarming to me, asking me why Mass General didn’t want me finishing my residency there?” 

“Throwing your fame around, Doctor Beck?” 

“Damn straight.” Chris grabbed a slice of pizza and flopped down on the couch next to Mark. 

“I’ll get you some Ares 3 tee shirts.” Mark said, and let himself pat Chris’ knee once. 

“Wha?” Chris asked around his pizza. 

“You always wear your NASA tee shirts to work when you want to shove it down their throats who you are. I figure an Ares 3 tee shirt will work even better. If not, we can always get an ‘I saved Mark Watney’ shirt made. That would work. ‘Bring him home’, and all that shit.” 

Before they’d left NASA, Chris had taken what he called a solemn vow before the entire crew, that he was never wearing a suit again, without a damn good reason. He’d had years and years of flight suits, uniforms, and other issued clothing, and he was done. He wasn’t even going to wear shoes unless he had to. So far he’d done it, going through the media circus, interviews, and his residency clad in jeans, tee shirts, and running shoes. 

“Maybe I should get that ‘fuck Mars’ tee shirt you wear.” Chris told him. 

That had been a fun day. All over social media. He hadn’t warned anyone about the shirt, just wore it. His parents and the crew had all laughed themselves sick. NASA’s PR department had been ready to launch him back to Mars – without a spaceship. “Montrose would kill us both.” 

“It’d almost be worth it.” 

– 

Though he was waiting to tell Chris the major stuff, the one big thing, there was some other old ground Mark kind of wanted to go over. It seemed like they were far enough away from the Hermes, now, that they could discuss without flashbacks. Either of them. 

“Remember when you pulled me back onto the Hermes?” Mark started with. 

“Vaguely, yeah.” Chris replied sarcastically. 

They’d moved out to Chris’ balcony and were drinking more, their feet up on the railing. ‘Vaguely’ meant Chris was still having nightmares about it. Shit. 

“When I told you about the Vicodin thing. What was up with that?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You sort of froze, and did this judgy turn, and then huffed out a breath. For you in doctor mode it was like screaming and waving your arms.” 

Chris gave a soft snort of laughter. “You can’t read me for shit when I’m in doctor mode, apparently. That was a turn of terror and a huff of relief.” 

“What?” All this time, Mark had thought he’d lost a lot of Chris’ respect for the drug use.

“Geez, Mark. You tell me you ‘hit the Vicodin pretty hard’ for a couple YEARS? I was terrified we’d rescued you and were going to get to watch you die of liver or kidney failure. It has acetaminophen in it. That stuff’ll kill you faster than space, in a high dose.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, the spin was controlled panic to see how bad you’d fucked yourself up, then I open the thumb drive that had been in your armpit – I know damn well why you put it there, you asshole, I went to flight medicine school at NASA – and it’s named ‘IN THE LIKELY EVENT OF MY INCINERATION’. Jesus H, Mark.” 

“I didn’t think it would work, not in a million years, shooting myself into space. The physics alone, the Gs I’d be pulling, were ridiculous. Then there was the trajectory issue, even if I got my ass off the planet, which I doubted. And then you were supposed to catch me? Thought I’d go out in a fireball. At least it’d be faster than how Mars had been killing me. I’m an engineer. I knew the odds were really stacked against me.” 

“Then why did you do it?” 

“You guys MUTINIED. Blew your careers, years of your lives, to come and get me. What was I gonna say, ‘can’t do this, I’m chicken’?” 

Chris stared at him, mouth hanging. 

Mark really wanted to bite that bottom lip. 

Chris shook himself, drank some more. “So then, THEN, I get into the ‘medical shit’ file, and look at what you’d been taking. I was so relieved. You were fine. I wouldn’t have blamed you for taking more, with the hell you put your body through.” 

Oh. 

Chris smiled, that little lip-quirk that made the bow a true smile. “Do you remember letting me see all your medical records when we left Isolation at NASA? I saw what you did to your body, Mark. You had piles of drugs there, were in a hellish situation, no one stopping you, and you had the self control to take care of yourself properly.” He shook his head, drank again, continued softly. “What you did… you’ll be paying for it, physically, the rest of your life. You’re already having orthopedic issues, I can tell by the way you walk.” 

...huh. 

“At the time I was relieved for your liver and kidneys. But since I’ve seen your MRIs? I respect you for your self-control. Even more than I already had.” 

Mark stared down at the beer bottle in his hands and wondered if he was going to make it through his wait-a-year plan before he broke down and kissed Chris Beck. 

– 

Really early one October morning, the phone rang. “Beck.” 

There was a stream of German on the other end, familiar enough to make Chris smile. “Vogel! VOGEL! You know I can’t understand you when you go that fast! Slow down.” 

“The paper about the nutrition chemistry. You put my name on it?” 

One of the papers he’d written while he was still blindfolded at NASA was about how he and Vogel had dealt with limited resources and Mark’s near-starvation. It hadn’t been enough to get the nutrients into Mark’s body; they’d had to do it in a way his body could use, and his entire system had been haywire at the time so even normally useful forms of nutrients didn’t always work. He’d hoped it would be helpful for famines and other forms of malnutrition, so he tried to get it published, and was shocked when it was picked up by the Lancet. “Of course I put your name on it, you did half the work.” 

“You’re a doctor! I’m an astrophysicist!” 

“You’ve got a doctorate in chemistry and helped fill in the blanks of my understanding of digestion. Come on, you have to remember the hours we spent going over stuff.” They’d tracked some chemicals the entire way through the human body, and even with things he’d already known as a doctor, Vogel had given him a different viewpoint that had been invaluable. He’d sure as hell put Vogel’s name on that paper. 

“You are a madman, my friend.” 

“Well sure, but so are you, buddy. What’s this about?” 

“We won.” Vogel said simply. In the background, Helena called out that she loved Chris and he was her favorite. 

“Won what?” 

“Nobel prizes were announced this morning, Beck.” 

His brain stalled. Vogel couldn’t possibly mean what he sounded like he meant. Could he? “What?” he said weakly. 

“Nobel prize for medicine, Doctor Christopher Beck and Doctor Alexander Vogel, for work on the chemistry of micro-nutrients in the human body.” 

Chris was glad he hadn’t gotten out of bed, and flopped back down as he got a little dizzy. “What?” 

“You deserve it, of course. But I? I simply corrected a few errors. You did the work.” 

The hell. “Oh, no. If I’m getting this, so are you.” 

–

Mark was waiting in their pub, at their usual table, feet propped up, when Chris walked in. Their eyes met, and Chris grinned and gave a small laugh; the equivalent of roaring laughter, given his usual control. He grabbed a glass of wine as he walked past the bar – the bartender had his usual waiting, after the news that morning, and gave him a high five when he picked it up. 

“So a Nobel prize. And you’re still willing to have a beer - well, wine - with the little people.” Mark said as he hugged Chris and clapped him on the back. He was so damn proud of Chris and Vogel. And happy for them. He really wanted to present the prize to them. As the test subject involved, shouldn’t he have some input on this? 

He’d contact the Nobel committee and see about playing the Watney Card (as he was coming to think of it). Being world famous was pretty damned awesome when it came to talking his way into what he wanted; once he combined that with the foundation he was setting up, he was going to revolutionize agriculture whether the planet wanted him to, or not. 

Chris gave a giggle, took a swig of wine, and gave up, laughing. “Do you have any idea how HILARIOUS it is, to walk into a classroom run by a guy who’s tried his best to intimidate you for three months, the morning after you win a Nobel prize?” 

Mark remembered the run-in Chris had, that first day with the prof, and let himself sit back and laugh, too. 

“I just-” Chris smirked, “I walked in, and everyone applauded, and I said thanks and sat down, and that asshole stood in the front of the room, glaring, for five minutes.” 

Mark clapped a hand on Chris’ shoulder again. “I’m proud of you, man.” 

“Vogel keeps texting. The press is contacting him because I had them all blocked while I was at work. He keeps swearing at me in German. I think it’s swearing. Pretty sure.” Vogel had taught them all German on the trip, but when he really got going with the idioms, they still had trouble understanding him; German was a wild and crazy language. 

“I’m glad you put him on the paper. I remember those brain-storming sessions you had. He deserved it.” 

“He really did.” Chris rummaged for his phone, flipped through, “Here. One of the other residents took this and sent it to me, with a thank you note.” 

It was a picture of a stereotypical old white guy doctor, hands on hips, enraged. “Nice work. I’m really proud of you.” Mark told him. “I’m glad you’re getting recognized for the work you did, saving my sorry ass.” 

“Oh, SHIT.” Chris said, suddenly sitting up. “I’m gonna have to wear a goddamn tux.” 

Mark laughed until he cried. 

–

They both finished off their year of study, and Mark did a graduation ceremony for the hell of it, mostly to get the entire crew in one place and please his parents. Chris’ official graduation thing was a week after, so the whole gang stayed in town for the week, bunking in Chris and Mark’s apartments, eating out, staying in and celebrating, and laughing, so so much. Their families had come into town, too, and the whole thing was like a long, extended party. 

Martinez and Johanssen were going back, on the Ares V. Mark privately thought they were braver than he ever was, but he congratulated and toasted them with the rest. Told them they could call him if they had any problems. That got a big laugh, but Martinez said he would and was deadly serious. 

Lewis had gone back to the Navy, who was thrilled to have her. She was teaching at the Academy, running the midshipmen through worst-case scenarios until they cried. Vogel was still with the European Space Agency, teaching new astronauts how to keep a spaceship running past its extended life expectancy with nail clippers and duct tape. He probably wasn’t supposed to teach them how to rig explosives, but Mark bet he was doing that, too. 

They all seemed really, really happy. 

Mark figured it was time to put his plan into action, and either make them all happier, or give himself a reason to go to the Peace Corps again. 

– 

“Can we talk?” Mark finally asked, stupidly, trying to lead into what might be the final discussion. 

“We talk every day.” Chris said absentmindedly, stirring vegetables around in a frying pan. They were eating at his place, as usual. 

“No, I mean. Talk.” 

Chris’ eyes had finally stabilized, and he was now very near-sighted, wearing thick, heavy lenses held in horn-rim frames. They always made Mark sad, seeing the toll the rescue had taken on him. But it was still kind of cute when Chris would squint over them, when they slid down his nose. He was squinting at Mark, now, intently. “Sure.” He flipped off the flame under their dinner and went out to the living room, taking a seat, without another word. 

“Right.” Mark said with a deep breath. “It turns out, spending a lot of time alone on another planet can change a person.” 

Chris gave him the no shit pursed-lips face. 

“Let me work up to this, okay?” Mark pleaded. Chris gestured for him to continue, and Mark held his breath for a long moment, then said “According to the shrinks, all that isolation meant that my priorities changed, when it came to relationships. Well, I mean, that’s what I think, but I’m saying, they agree with me.” 

Chris froze, suddenly intent, and Mark didn’t want to get derailed by that or he’d never have the guts to say this again. 

“I’m demisexual now. Sexual attraction is linked up with my other feelings for the person, dependent on them, really. Casual sex, not a thing for me any more.” Not that it ever had been, really. Much. Hardly at all. Okay, after he got out of undergrad. 

“I know how it works.” Chris nearly whispered. 

Mark belatedly remembered how many counseling certifications the guy had. “Yeah. I bet you do. So, ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gave up. “I’m in love with you. Have been for a while now. I have no problem remaining friends and forgetting all about-” 

“How long.” Chris asked, still frozen, intent. Hushed. 

Might as well go for broke. “Pretty much since you pulled me out of the MAV.” 

Chris sucked in a shocked breath. 

“Don’t- don’t be angry. I’d been through massive trauma, and let’s be honest, so had you. I had no idea what was going on, but I felt like I’d imprinted on you like a baby duck. The last thing you needed, on top of keeping me alive, was being counselor to a guy questioning his sexuality. There was no way I was going to make you deal with that. The ethics considerations were a nightmare for you. It didn’t matter, anyway, we had about a billion things higher on the priority list of things to deal with. So I waited until we got home.”

“And then.” 

“Then I talked to the shrinks. A lot. Like since the first week we hit dirt. By then I was pretty sure it was love, but again. Heterosexual guy, gets stranded on Mars for a year and some, comes home demisexual and attracted to a male shipmate. I know EXACTLY how that sounds, and I owed it to you, us, to be damn sure of things before I mentioned it to you.” 

“Now you’re sure.” 

Mark blew out a breath. “I’ve been sure. I’ve been sure since that morning I came around a corner in Isolation and found about twenty medical staff swarming around your room and my heart about stopped. I’m sorry about your eyes, I can’t even say, but holy shit, my first thought was an embolism, or a stroke.” 

“You held my hand. While they were wheeling me down the hall.” 

“I had to touch you. I was standing there in the hall, couldn’t move, and I hear you, giving the doc permission to tell us what was going on, calm as always. It was like everything started moving again. They were wheeling you off and I had to grab you, had to know you were THERE, before they disappeared with you.” 

“And then made sure we were roommates.” 

“It wasn’t anything skeevy, I swear. I wanted to be with you, that’s all. Make sure you were all right.” 

“No, no. I know you wouldn’t do anything awful. I’m… you know, gathering information. You were hetero. Before.” 

Mark held his hands out, shrugged. “I thought I was. Hell, I don’t even know, looking back. I'm not even interested in women now, without getting to know them. Men never grossed me out or anything. Now, I look at them, and I’m mildly curious. Unless it’s you.” 

“And me?” 

“You I want to kiss. And, well, everything.” 

Chris quirked that little half-smile. “Everything?” 

Well, no one was screaming or throwing him out of the apartment, might as well confess to everything. “Yeah, when we first got to Boston, I decided to test the hypothesis, so to speak.” 

Hands over face, Chris said “What did you do?” 

“Went out clubbing one night, let a guy blow me in the men’s room.” 

“Your method of testing a hypothesis is a blowie.” 

“I can’t believe you just used the word ‘blowie’.” 

“I’m an ER doc. I’ve heard and seen everything. Please at least tell me you used a condom.” 

“Yes, Doctor Beck, I used a condom.” 

They were silent for a long moment. 

“What’d you think?” Chris finally asked softly. 

“It was ‘eh’, you know. Oh, this is nice. I mean, there’s no such thing as a BAD blow job, is there? Until I imagined how it’d be if it was you.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sex drive still fully functional. It, uh, works a lot better if my emotions are engaged.” 

Chris stood, walked to Mark. Instead of stopping at the usual distance they kept between themselves, he kept walking until their bodies were touching, their lips nearly. “You’re sure.” 

“It’s been two years for me. I waited because I didn’t want to put you through me changing my mind or something stupid. I wanted you to believe me when I told you. But this. This is real. I love you.” Mark whispered. 

“I love you too.” Chris whispered back, and leaned in, and kissed him. Mark sort of melted against him in relief, and kissed back. 

Oooooh, whiskers. Sexier than he’d expected. Texture, and friction, and CHRIS. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mmm. Whiskers. Sexier than expected.” Mark whispered, and reached up, running the backs of his fingers over Chris’ cheek.

Chris had loved Mark for, hell, he didn’t even know how long. Since they met, probably. Handsome, brilliant, masculine, charming. Unapologetically himself. Yeah, he’d noticed Mark right away. And then, hetero. Life was full of that kind of thing, so he’d pushed the attraction aside and been friends. They were on the same crew, he was a nice, funny, easygoing guy, it wasn’t difficult. 

It wasn’t until they got to Boston that Chris let himself admit that he was romantically in love with Mark. Didn’t really matter in the overall scheme of things. He had a best friend who he loved very much, and if he ever HAD to have sex, he’d go have a fling with someone. Probably a woman, so he didn’t imagine it was Mark the whole time; that seemed unfair to even a casual partner. 

He never had the fling. He’d had enough casual sex for a lifetime, and he wanted Mark.

They’d worked, and hung out, and Chris had been happier than he’d thought would be possible while on the way home from Mars either time, wondering what in hell he was supposed to do with the rest of his life. 

And now, impossibly, Mark. He leaned in and kissed him, their lips soft together, Mark’s face tilted up slightly to meet his, warm and solid and THERE, in his arms. 

“Mmm. Whiskers. Sexier than expected.” Mark whispered, and reached up, running the backs of his fingers over Chris’ cheek. 

“You hadn’t kissed anyone? Masculine?” 

“Didn’t want to. Wanted to kiss you.” Mark leaned up, big, solid hand on the back of Chris’ neck, and kissed back. Their tongues touched softly, Mark nibbled his bottom lip, and pulled away again to rub their cheeks together, whisker rasping. 

Mark… definitely looked engaged. His pupils were dilated, breathing a little unsteady, heartbeat strong and fast where Chris could feel it in his throat. Sure as hell looked like sexual attraction as well as emotional. “I want to take this slowly.” Chris whispered. He wanted to be sure there was physical lust on Mark’s part before he let himself believe it was possible. They kissed again, a little longer, a little more deeply. He tried to memorize how it felt. 

“Whatever you want.” Mark agreed breathlessly. 

“Okay. Okay, let’s give it a try.” How was he supposed to say anything else, when presented with his greatest desire? 

Mark’s smile was like the sun coming out. 

“Come on, dinner’s waiting.” Mark gave him a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug, and they went back to cooking. 

– 

They went on a kind-of date the next night. Both of them were at loose ends, for now; Mark was researching non-profits and making plans, taking applications as quietly as possible, talking to lawyers and accountants. Chris was working at the Mass General ER on an open-ended contract. Both wanted a little while to themselves, to see how things went, before they made any decisions. 

Though they were leaning toward New York. 

“No, see, you could do research stuff for Doctors Without Borders, and work in the ER on the side. I’m sure New York City has an ER that could use you.” 

They were at their usual pub, but this time, instead of sprawling out, they were huddled together, holding hands. Well, Chris was trying to hold hands, Mark was sort of examining Chris’ hands, turning them over, stroking the fingers, bending them gently. 

“Nobody works in an ER ‘on the side’. It’s a full time job. Why MSF?” And what was so interesting about his hands? 

“You turned yourself into a nutrition deficiency expert on the second trip to Mars. I had NASA show me all the journals they sent to you. It was nuts. You read them all, didn’t you?” 

“Of course.” 

“And your big genius prodigy brain remembered it all, put it together and took it apart in ways that no one else ever has, and you wrote it up and all the other doctors went ‘oooh, never thought of that’.” 

“Do not even start with the IQ crap, Doctor Two More Doctorates Than Me. What is with my hands?” 

Mark grinned a little, raised one of Chris’ hands to his mouth, and kissed the palm. “They’re sexy. I could sit and watch you type for hours.” 

“You have got to be kidding.” Chris thought he might be blushing. 

“Nope. They’re all… deft and capable.” Mark wiggled his eyebrows. “I knew I had it bad when I would zone out, watching you bandage me.” 

“Let’s get out of here.” Chris decided, throwing some money on the table. 

“Okay!” Mark followed him out into the street, snickering, and Chris wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Mark slung one around his waist, leaned up for a quick kiss, and- 

He heard the click of a camera phone. 

Mark froze. 

Chris slowed, taking a moment to catch up with the camera sound and Mark’s reaction. 

“Oh, SHIT. My place, now. Move it.” He grabbed Chris’ hand and hauled him off. 

– 

That had been a really nice thirty hours, Chris thought sadly, hauled down the street by Mark. The photo was going to hit social media any second now, and by morning headlines would be screaming that Mark Watney had hooked up with Doctor Beck. He’d been pretty sure their relationship wouldn’t survive the outing of it, and here they were, running to shelter on their first date. 

He tried to summon that calm space he got into when he was working. That had never really worked all that well around Mark, but there was always a first time, right? They burst into Mark’s apartment, and Chris was surprised when, instead of the expected excuses, apologies, or rejections, Mark dove for his main entertainment screen, turned it on, synced a bunch of stuff, and then paced, muttering “come on, come on, BE HOME.” 

The screen blinked, and – there were Mr and Mrs Watney, on video call, looking half happy and half worried. “Mark? Is everything okay?” Mrs Watney asked. 

Chris stood off to the side, confused, as Mark summoned his sheepish smile. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Stop worrying. I’m still on Earth and everything.” 

His parents gave that not-amused chuckle parents did. 

“So, hey, uh. Something’s going to hit social media by morning, and I wanted you to know because I knew if Mom heard it from a reporter first, she’d kill me.” 

Oh. OH. Chris dropped into a chair, unable to feel his feet. Was this-? 

“Of course, honey, what’s happened?” Mrs W asked. 

“Chris and I went out on a date tonight.” Mark told them both. 

On screen, Mrs Watney raised her hands in a cheer, then she and Mr Watney exchanged high fives. “YES! It’s about time. We’ve been hoping, since you got back.” 

Mark blinked, his mouth hanging open a little. 

Chris took the first deep breath since that camera phone had gone off, and maybe blinked back a few tears. Mark’s parents were amazing. He’d always loved them, but this was over the top. 

“Christopher? Are you there? Get on camera, dear.” Mrs W demanded. 

He leaned over Mark’s shoulder. “Hi, Mr and Mrs Watney.” His voice was a little rough. He cleared it. “It’s good to see you both, I hope you’re well.” 

“Welcome to the family. We’re so glad to have you.” Mrs W positively beamed at him. 

“Glad Mark finally came to his senses and realized he’d never do better than you.” Mr W added, smiling happily. 

“Thank you.” Chris said, from the depths of his heart. 

“Does your mother know?” Mrs W asked. 

“Uh.” Chris had been waiting until the relationship was stable, before he told anyone. Stable meaning ‘survived Mark’s outing’. 

“Get on the phone, tell her. She’d feel the same way I would, if she found out from the news.” Mrs W made a shooing gesture and Chris nodded and ducked into the kitchen, pulled out his phone. 

“Chris?” 

“Hey, Mom.” 

“How are you, darling?” 

“I’m, uh, I’m good. Really good. But there’s some stuff. I don’t want you finding out on the news, you know?” 

“Certainly not. Let me get your father on the line, and you can tell both of us.” 

– 

Mark was sitting on his couch, staring off into space, ha, when Chris got done talking to his folks. From what he’d overheard, everything was fine. But then, Chris had been openly bisexual most of his life, and both Chris’ parents liked him, so business as usual really. 

His folks, though. God. He’d always loved them, but tonight? He’d found a way to love them more than he already did. Called them up, told them he was dating a guy, THE guy, and he’d known they would accept it. They always accepted things, accepted him, loved him. Him suddenly dating a man wouldn’t get him disowned or anything. But. Cheering? Had not been the reaction he’d been expecting. 

“My folks are thrilled, send their love.” Chris told him, sitting down and putting an arm around Mark. 

“Mine too.” Mark said, still absorbing the whole thing. He leaned into Chris, smiled when he got a kiss on the head. 

“I thought you were freaking out.” Chris said. “When they took that picture, and you realized it’d hit the news that you were dating a guy, I thought you flipped out.” 

Mark nodded. “I did. I knew if my mother found out from the media she’d kill me with a potato peeler.” 

“Shit.” Chris jerked out his phone again. “We better tell the crew.” 

“Oh fuck.” Mark agreed, and began texting Martinez. 

– 

It hit the news the next morning, and with the idea of ‘spend your fame like money’ in the back of both their minds, they agreed when Annie Montrose called up and begged to let her set up a press conference. She really ought to have known better, by that point. It wasn’t their fault she had unrealistic expectations. 

Chris was back stage, still not decided on whether he was going to go out there, but Mark was there in his ‘botanist costume’: boots, work pants, chambray shirt. He’d had to start wearing glasses, as well, and was looking very dashing, if a little tired. They’d spent most of the night on Mark’s couch, kissing, talking and still taking it slow. But not as slowly as before. Because they’d survived Mark’s outing and Mark, as usual, didn’t give a rip what the world thought, but he was willing to charm them about it, all the same. He was kind of ashamed of himself for expecting anything less. One of the qualities that attracted him most to Mark was how he knew himself so well, and accepted that, with no illusions. Of COURSE this was how he’d react to falling in love with a man for the first time. 

At the appointed time, he stepped up to the podium. “Hi, I’m Mark Watney, Pirate King of Mars.” 

Chris dropped his head back to hit the wall. “Oh, hell.” It was going to be one of THOSE press conferences. 

“Stop him.” Montrose hissed. 

“Have I ever, like ever, gotten him under control when he’s in this mood?” Chris asked her in disbelief. “What, you think us dating gives me some super power? I’m here to tell you, it’ll probably make him WORSE.” 

“That asshole promised me he would behave.” She glared out across the stage at him. 

“He is.” Chris smiled widely when she turned her anger on him. “He hasn’t told any reporters to fuck off yet. There’s that.” Mark had been known to do that. 

Montrose looked a little green, and given the PR wringer she’d put the crew through when they got back, Chris felt a little bit pleased. 

“There are a lot of questions today, about a photo that made the social media rounds, and looks like I’m kissing another man.” 

Murmurs from the media. 

“The fact is...” Mark glanced around, dead serious, and then stopped and grinned brightly, “it is! That is, indeed, me kissing another guy. And I assure you, I’m damned thrilled about it, and looking forward to doing it again, any time I get the chance.” 

Chaos. 

Naturally everyone wanted to know who the other guy was, because it looked sort of like Doctor Christopher Beck, and there had been speculation about them FOREVER, and there were shouted questions, and clamor, and, oh, HELL. 

Mark glanced over at him, Chris sighed deeply, and stepped out from back stage and crossed to the podium. Mark smiled like it was the best gift he’d ever been given, and wrapped one of those enormous callused hands around his. “Thanks.” He said under the roar of questions. 

Chris shook his head and rolled his eyes. He’d known this would happen, getting involved with Mark. HIS fear had never been the media, but how Mark would react to it. 

He should have known the Pirate King would have a fine old time. 

“It was, indeed, my little Beckaroo!” Mark said triumphantly to the reporters. 

Chris leaned toward the mic, and the place got really quiet, suddenly. “I may dump him, for the Beckaroo thing.” 

Most of the reporters laughed. To hell with the rest of them. 

Someone asked if they’d ‘dated’ while on the Hermes, and Chris stiffened a little. Mark had been his patient. He’d never- 

“No. Doctor Beck and I were never involved in any way but friendship, at any time while we were employed by NASA. He was my doctor, and always conducted himself with the utmost professionalism. I respected that and would never have done anything to break that trust, or endanger his career by violating his code of ethics. In fact, last night was our first date. We should have known better than to go out.” 

There was some chuckling. 

Someone called out that they thought Mark was hetero. 

“Yeah, so did I.” Mark said easily, waiting for laughs to die down. The calm assurance was so typical of him, Chris felt terrible for doubting. “Turns out, when you spend a year and a half stranded alone on another planet, you want some emotional connection in your physical relationships. Go figure. The term I’m using is demisexual. If you’re unfamiliar with it, you can look it up, it’s in common usage.” 

Something about whether this would affect Chris’ career? Huh? 

“Uh, I don’t see how.” Chris told them. “I’ve been openly bisexual since I was thirteen.” 

There was a buzz of interest at that, and Chris had NO idea why. He’d never done a thing to hide his sexuality or his partners. He couldn’t believe his partners from back in the day had stayed silent when he got famous. 

“I hope that clears everything up. Yes, it was us. Yes, we’re dating. No, we haven’t been sneaking around. Y’all have a good day!” Mark waved, then leaned up and planted a solid but brief kiss right on Chris’ lips, pretty much repeating the move that had been caught in the photo the night before. 

More chaos, and photos going like a strobe light. They left. Chris thought he saw Montrose taking a tranquilizer while they ducked out the fire exit. 

– 

Back in Mark’s apartment, it was cool and dark; his plants blocked most of the light coming in the windows. As soon as the door was shut, Chris crowded him up against a wall, slid a leg between Mark’s to keep him still, and leaned in. “I have a confession.” 

Mark tilted his head back a little to look in his eyes. “Oh?” He pulled Chris’ face down and kissed him, long and hard, sucking on his bottom lip before pulling away. 

“One of the main reasons I said I wanted to take this slow was because I didn’t think it would survive becoming public.” Chris bent, pressed his face into Mark’s neck, and inhaled the scent of him. Then he licked along the collar of his shirt, because he could. And did it again because Mark got goose bumps, and also tasted really good. 

“I think I’m offended.” 

“I’m apologizing.” Chris explained, and bit Mark’s neck. Mark was solid and muscular against him, healthy and strong, and Chris leaned their bodies together for the pleasure of feeling Mark push back against him. 

“Well then.” Mark agreed breathlessly, and used his superior weight and lower center of gravity to drag Chris off to his bedroom. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So that happened.” Mark said, dropping down at their table in their pub. 
> 
> Chris sat next to him, still numb. “Did Elon Musk just offer to be our fairy godfather?

Mark’s bedroom was dark and soft. That was Chris’ first thought. It smelled of green, plants all over, and the bed was enormous. “I tried to make it as different as I could from the HAB. Or Hermes.” Mark explained. 

“You did a good job.” Chris told him. Mark stepped up beside him and began pulling Chris’ shirt off. “Hey, hey. Slow down.” Chris leaned in for a lazy, licking kiss. Mark tasted like the coffee he’d had at the press conference, and MARK. His lips were a little chapped, and the kissing was clumsy because they were both smiling so much. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. We don’t have to be anywhere for three days.” Another kiss, pushing his hand up along the bristles at Mark’s hair line, and into the hair at the back of his head. It was softer than it looked, and Mark didn’t use product. Chris ran both hands through Mark’s hair again, cupped them at the sides of his neck, and leaned their foreheads together. “No rush at all.” His guts clenched at the idea of what they could get up to in three days. 

Mark bent and kissed along Chris’ neck, his tongue wet on his skin. “Easy for you to say. We could rush the first round, then slow down.” He pulled Chris’ shirt off and stared for a long moment. He ran a fingertip down the center of of Chris’ chest, through the short dark hair. Chris’ entire body tightened. “Nice.” 

“I want to savor.” Chris grabbed both of Mark’s hands, held them to his hips, kissed again. “And since we’re being honest, here, I also want to do this slowly enough for us to figure out where your limits are.” 

“I don’t think I have limits.” Mark mused, pulling Chris’ hips in even further and rubbing them together. “God, that’s good.” 

Everyone had limits. “This is your first time with a guy, right?” Chris breathed into Mark’s ear. Not counting a blow job in a club, which was ridiculous and barely intimate. 

“So?” Mark demanded, giving Chris a rough kiss. 

Chris tried not to get distracted by the pure masculinity of Mark taking over. Those hard, callused hands were going to drive him wild, he knew it. Once Mark had a better idea what he liked and wanted, Chris would be a puddle of want at his mercy. “What would you do if I threw you down on the bed and fucked you? Right now?” Chris asked. 

“Ah...” Mark’s eyes dilated and he looked really interested, which was good, but “That might be a bit much, RIGHT now, work up to it?” He rubbed the back of one hand over Chris’ abs, scrubbing the hair back and forth, then ran a finger down the line of hair that went from his navel, down below his jeans. 

Chris closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. “That’s what I meant.” Chris whispered, and kissed him again. Mark stroked up over Chris’ abdomen and pecs, down his arms. He closed his eyes and shivered as Mark did it again, pausing to rub his thumbs over his nipples. Chris knew he was making noises, and couldn’t stop. 

“You are so goddamn beautiful.” Mark said absently, watching his hands move over Chris’ chest. “I could never figure out how you managed this muscle definition after two years in space.” 

“I work out when I’m stressed.” Chris pulled Mark’s glasses off, put them on a bedside table, then got his shirt off. He kissed right above the 17 tattoo on Mark’s shoulder. 

Mark returned the kiss on Chris’ 14 tattoo. “I remember when we all got these, you pulled off your shirt and I was like ‘where the hell did all those muscles come from?’ You look like a distance runner with your clothes on.” 

“I am a distance runner.” Chris wrapped his arms around Mark’s shoulders and moaned a little as all that bare skin came into contact. Mark wrapped his arms around his waist, and they stood there and kissed. 

“Come on, let’s at least do this laying down.” Mark kicked his shoes off. “I assume taking my socks off is okay? Too shocking for you?” 

Chris laughed and did the same. “You know I’ve already seen every inch of your body.” 

“Isn’t it different, when you’re doctoring?” Mark asked curiously, throwing pillows around and pulling down the blankets on the bed. 

“Yeah. It really is. Professionalism and ethics to begin with, and also the thing where I’m too busy doing my job to stop and stare.” Chris rolled into the bed and groaned. “Oh god, linen sheets. I don’t think I’ve laid on linen sheets since the last time I was at my parents’.” 

“You look good, laid out on my sheets.” Mark said thoughtfully, watching him. “Even if you are still wearing jeans.” 

Chris held out his arms and made grabby hands. Mark laughed and crawled onto the bed. “Glad I got a big bed, so there’s actually room for us.” 

“Me too.” Chris agreed, rolled on top of him and sat back on his heels. 

Mark laid on the bed, staring up at Chris, his hands on Chris’ thighs. “Still waiting for me to suddenly realize you have a dick and flip out?” 

“You make it sound dumb when you put it like that.” 

“Look. I know this is different, and I’m probably going to need talked through giving my first blow job-” Chris laughed, “but this? Finally getting my hands on you? I love it. The differences from what I’m used to don’t freak me out, they make me curious. Okay?” He rocked his hips up and rubbed his hard-on against Chris’ ass to make his point, then ran a finger down Chris’ own hard-on where it was clearly visible under his jeans. 

“Mmm. Can’t think when you do that.” 

“Cool. How about...” Mark rolled them and wrestled a bit and reversed their positions. Chris blinked up at him. “You gonna take off your glasses?” 

“No.” Chris actually pouted. “Wanna see you.” 

Mark leaned down and sucked on his bottom lip for a little bit, for that. Until Chris moaned and arched and rocked up against him. “Can I, uh, explore? A bit?” 

“Absolutely.” Chris laid back and put his hands behind his head, bringing out even more muscle definition in his arms and chest, and Mark shook his head in admiration, before leaning down to trace the line of one bicep with his tongue. His skin was smooth against his tongue, the scent of Chris surrounding him, and Mark took a moment to mash his face into Chris’ neck and just breathe. 

“Aw.” Chris said with a chuckle, and ran a hand over Mark’s hair, enjoying the bristles tickling his palm. 

Mark sat back up, and Chris had to grin helplessly at the smile on Mark’s face. He quit grinning pretty fast when Mark leaned down and licked at one nipple, then bit. He arched and clung to whatever part of Mark he could reach. 

“Yeah, that look on your face might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Mark muttered under his breath, and went back to what he’d been doing. 

Chris ran a hand up into Mark’s hair and hung on for dear life. He couldn’t breathe, could barely keep his eyes open. Every time his body arched with pleasure, his cock rubbed up against Mark’s ass and he knew he was making noises in his throat but he couldn’t stop and didn’t want to. 

“Right, pants.” Chris heard, and then hands were at his waist, fingers hooked under the waistband of his jeans, running along the edge, reaching for the button fly and Mark’s fingers brushed the head of his cock and it was like lightning, and he gasped. 

“Like that, baby?” Mark whispered. Chris managed to roll his eyes and Mark chuckled before Chris’ pants were being undone and pulled off. “Going commando? Why, Christopher. I’m shocked.” Mark was moving around on the bed, pulling the jeans off, tossing them on the floor. He leaned in for a long kiss full of teeth and tongue and Chris lifted up into it, clutching at Mark’s arms. Mark plucked the glasses from his face, put them aside. 

“Hey.” Chris blinked, squinting around. 

“You’ve had your eyes shut.” 

Mark settled between Chris’ legs, instead of crouched on top of them. Chris had a moment to feel exposed, before Mark ran his hands up the insides of his thighs and Chris dropped back to the bed, moaning. Mark leaned up to kiss him some more, then nipped his way down Chris’ neck and across his collarbone. Chris was dimly aware he was making a LOT of noise, but all he could do was hang on to Mark’s shoulders and rock his hips upward.

“What do you want?” Mark demanded. 

“This. You. Touching me.” Chris whispered. 

Mark laughed again, and Chris pushed up into Mark’s hands, loving the sound of it. Coming back from Mars, it was when Mark started laughing again that Chris knew he’d be all right. “Details.” Mark demanded, then leaned down and raked his teeth over Chris’ abs. Chris arched up again, wrapping his legs up against Mark’s hips. His hands were shaking, Chris noticed with surprise as he took Mark’s, laid them over his own chest. Mark obligingly touched there, tracing muscles and rubbing his nipples, then leaning in and doing the same with his mouth. He was on the edge of screaming and pushed Mark’s face away gently. 

Mark leaned up to kiss him again, then nipped an earlobe and whispered “You are gorgeous like this. All those sexy noises, moving against me like you can’t wait for me to touch you.” 

“Mark.” Oh god, he was a talker in bed. That was it. Chris was done for. 

“Right here.” He kissed gently under Chris’ ear. 

“Touch me.” 

“I am. Show me what you want.” 

Chris took Mark’s hands, ran them down his own body. He was unable to be quiet or keep from moving. He cupped one of Mark’s hand’s around his balls, and the other over his cock, and rubbed against them. “Please.” He was trying so hard not to go too fast for Mark to keep up, but oh god, the combination of those strong hands on his body and Mark’s voice in his ear was everything he’d wanted, for years. 

“Pretty sure I know how to do this.” Mark said with some humor, and did. It didn’t take any time at all for Chris to arch up into his hands, shouting Mark’s name, as the first wave of pleasure hit. 

–

Chris was noisy in bed, which kind of surprised Mark, in a good way. It was damn helpful for figuring out what he was doing, and it was so unlike Poker Face Beck that he had to love it. The look on his face when he came, though. That almost pushed him over the edge, that alone. All the years of seeing him detached, worried, or simply blank, watching Chris Beck writhing under him in pleasure? Shouting his name? That was his newest, greatest, favorite kink. 

But for now? He stripped off his own jeans and laid down next to Chris. Chris arched again and shivered, like he had under Mark’s hands. “Chris?” 

“Mm. Aftershock.” 

Mark let himself grin. Good. Not screwing up this sex thing. He scooted in, until he was laying all along Chris’ side and oh damn, that felt good. He kissed the point of Chris’ shoulder and rocked his hips, enjoying the feel of his dick rubbing along Chris’ hip. That felt a lot more intense than it should. 

“Oh, hello.” Chris said with a sleepy smile, and turned slightly. He kissed Mark, deeply. “Rubbing off on me?” He whispered. 

“I think so.” Mark answered, trying to be coherent. 

“Let me help with that.” Chris leaned over lazily, and cupped one hand over Mark’s cock, trapping it between his hand and his hip. Mmm, friction. He loved friction. “I love watching you like this.” He began moving his hand and Mark whimpered and began moving his hips faster. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it up for me. Let me see you come.” 

That was it for Mark. He leaned his head against Chris’ and let himself go. Then Chris whispered “I love you” and he was gone. 

–

It took Chris a while to catch his breath and get himself together. Watching Mark climax had been amazing, and he’d already been wiped out from his own orgasm. He finally gave Mark a kiss – barely returned, Mark was zoned – and smiled as he crossed to Mark’s bathroom on shaky legs. 

Good lord, if that was their first time, what was it going to be like when they had some practice? They’d kill each other. 

What a way to go. 

He went to clean up Mark, and laughed as he did, pushing Mark’s clumsy, grabbing hands aside as he wiped him down. “Hang on, let me get rid of the washcloth.” 

“Mmm. No.” Mark’s voice was even lower, raspier, and Chris felt his entire body tighten up at the sound. “Come to bed.” He got a grip on one of Chris’ wrists and wouldn’t let go. 

“Just give me a second...” Mark tightened his hand and pulled. 

Chris gave up, threw the washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom door, and fell into bed. 

–

They dozed off and on, waking up and kissing and grinning at each other, falling asleep again. The room was darkening with sunset, and Mark lay on his back with Chris draped over him, arm thrown over Mark’s chest, face tucked into his neck. Mark was tracing Chris’ ‘14’ tattoo with one finger. 

“On Mars, I’d think about the thirteen Lewis got inked on her. Mission commander, number thirteen. Maybe NASA should get the hint and start skipping straight from twelve to fourteen, you know?” 

“Kind of superstitious.” 

“We could get Johanssen to program around it.” 

Chris laughed. 

Mark traced the line of Chris’ biceps, up to his shoulder, down to his elbow. He was kind of hungry, and kind of horny, but he didn’t want to move; this was pretty much everything he’d wanted since he got pulled back on board the Hermes. “Did I ever thank you for that catch?” 

Chris stiffened slightly, and Mark wanted to smack himself. “Yeah, actually, you did.” Chris said, relaxing again. “The first night you were on board; you were pretty out of it, you may not remember.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Plus when we got back to Houston and your parents heard the whole story, they both cried on me and, um. Yeah.” 

Mark winced a little. 

Chris’ phone rang. 

“Shit.” Chris rolled out of the bed, and began rummaging through clothes thrown all around the bed. “Sorry. I have to get this, it could be the hospital.” 

“I know. It’s okay.” Mark had known going into this, he was with a doctor. This kind of thing would happen. Besides, he got to watch Chris’ long, lean, naked form move around the bedroom, and that was pretty inspiring. 

“Beck.” Chris finally answered. There was a pause, and then his eyebrows went up, down, and he dropped to sit on the edge bed. 

Mark sat up and laid a hand on his shoulder. He hoped this wasn’t bad. 

“No... yes…” Chris’ eyes flicked up to Mark, and stared intently for a long second. “All right. Let me check.” He muted the phone and turned to Mark. “Elon Musk wants to take us to dinner tomorrow night, talk about, in his words, ‘some ideas he’s had’. Mostly for me, but he’d like you there, he has some thoughts for you too.” 

“Elon Musk.” Mark repeated. Owner of the only commercial space program on the planet. “Dinner.” 

“Yeah.” 

Shit. He was, obviously, really good at problem analysis and he could see the shape this one was taking already. “Sure, we’ll go see what he wants.” Elon Musk didn’t hang around Boston, which meant he was either making the trip especially to see them, or, hell, who knew. Life had gotten pretty fucking weird since he was chosen for the Ares program. Who sends botanists to space anyway? He should have known something was going sideways, right there. 

Chris finished up with arrangements, hung up, and put the phone on the bedside table. “So that happened.” 

“Are you okay?” Mark had to ask. Neither of them had wanted to stay with NASA when they returned, but a lateral move to another space agency hadn’t occurred to them. 

“I… don’t know. Are you?” 

“Can we...” Mark swallowed. He’d finally had what he wanted, in his bed, with Chris, and now this. “Can we sleep on this, or whatever, see what he wants tomorrow? Can tonight be for us?” Could he have one goddamn night before reality bit him on the ass again? 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Chris agreed. He crawled up into the bed, crouched over Mark. “We should get something to eat, it’s getting late.” 

Mark cupped his hand around Chris’ neck and pulled him in for a hard, possessive kiss. “Yeah. Later.” 

–

Around midnight they ordered in some Chinese, and sat on the couch together, eating. Chris had put on his jeans and nothing else, and glancing down, noticed he had love bites across his chest. He blinked for a minute, then smiled and went back to eating. 

“Uh, sorry about that?” Mark said, not sounding too sorry. 

“I’m not.” Chris said with a grin. 

–

Chris had a nightmare that night, because of course he did. He became aware, halfway through sitting up, a shout he cut short ringing out. He pulled his knees up, laid his head on them, and tried not to cry. 

“Chris?” Mark said beside him, softly. 

He felt gooseflesh break out all over his body, and pressed his head into his knees harder. “Nightmare.” He ground out. “Fine. Go back to sleep.” 

“Oh yeah, sure.” Mark agreed sarcastically. “Can I touch you?” 

Chris nodded. A moment later, Mark laid his hand on his shoulder. “I know it was a nightmare, okay? I know where I am, and when, and who you are, and...” his stomach roiled, and he bolted for the bathroom. 

Thankfully he made it before he vomited. 

Mark simply followed, rubbed his back, gave him a wet washcloth after, and a drink of water. When Chris dropped down to the floor next to the tub, afraid to leave the bathroom quite yet, Mark sat next to him and laid a hand gently on his knee. 

“Fuck.” Chris groaned, and wiped his face with the washcloth again. 

“Not making the joke is really difficult.” Mark told him, then took the washcloth and ran it over the back of Chris’ neck. 

“You’re very tough. You can do it.” 

“Can I get you anything?” 

“A fifth of Jack and a glass of ice.” 

Mark froze. “I hadn’t realized you were, ah, using that coping method.” 

Chris sighed and laid his aching head carefully on Mark’s shoulder. “I’m not, but I really want to start.” 

“How about not. Have you considered meds?” 

“They make it so I can’t wake myself up. I still have the nightmares.” 

“Fuck, I hate that. Me too.” Mark kissed his head again. “Do you think you’re all right? If not, that’s fine, but I’ll find you a robe to put on if you want to stay in here. You’re shivering.” 

“That’s not from cold.” Chris said wearily, but he stood and pulled Mark to his feet. “Have a spare toothbrush?” 

“No, but you can use mine.” Mark’s evil grin flashed in the shadows. “I mean, we’ve had our mouths all over each other and our tongues in each other’s mouth, after that it’s not too gross, is it?” 

Chris brushed his teeth, and let himself be led back to bed and tucked in, with Mark curled around him. The trembling eased off as Mark held him. “It was a new one.” 

“New nightmare?” Mark asked. 

Chris nodded. “Dreamed I woke up here in the morning, you were gone. Couldn’t find you, couldn’t get you on the phone. I finally called your mom, she started crying and told me you’d died on Mars, didn’t I remember?” 

Mark hissed. “Fuck. Your brain is a bastard.” 

“It really is.” 

“Think you can sleep now?” 

“No, but you go on ahead. This is… this is nice.” 

Mark kissed the nape of his neck, and Chris rolled them so he was wrapped around Mark. He laid his hand over the scar he’d left under Mark’s ribs, and hung on tight. 

–

“One year, ONE YEAR, and I’ve been in a suit how many times?” Chris grumbled. 

“That’s not a suit. It’s a crumpled dress shirt and some khakis. You’re wearing TENNIS SHOES.” At least he’d tucked in the shirt. Although the effect was canceled out by the fact he hadn’t shaved in days. 

Chris growled, and Mark tried not to laugh. 

“Are we counting the tux at the Nobel ceremony as a suit?” Mark asked innocently, because harmlessly bitching Chris was entertaining as fuck. 

“It counts TWICE because I had to get the damn thing fitted. I still can’t believe you talked your way into presenting that.” 

Mark finished tying his tie. It had been a present from Chris’ twin sister last holiday, and was covered in little green men. “I’m Mark fucking Watney. Best botanist on Mars. Pirate King. Yarr.” 

“Yeah, well, getting both my parents into that ceremony, I think they love you more than me now.” 

Mark grinned. Each of them had been allowed to take a date, so Chris had invited his dad, and Mark had taken along Chris’ mother so they could both be there. She had jokingly ‘ditched’ Chris’ dad and treated Mark like her date all weekend, and it had been much more fun than a super-stuffy series of ceremonies and banquets should have been. 

“Quit smiling at my unhappiness.” Chris complained. He put on his tie – another gift from his sister, this one covered in little germs – jerked it down a couple inches, unbuttoning the collar and rolling up his sleeves. 

“You look like an unmade bed.” Mark told him. A really good unmade bed that he wanted to crawl into. 

“Funny. I ought to go barefoot.” 

“I’d pay to see that.” 

“Quit laughing, or I’ll make you eat potatoes at the restaurant.” 

“Oh hell no, there is NO WAY.” 

“Yeah, not so funny when it’s YOUR issue.” He was laughing when he said it, so Mark let his hand be grabbed and followed Chris out of the apartment. 

– 

The restaurant was dark, and they were put in a dark corner, and there was some kind of fusion cuisine on the menu. Mark didn’t care. He’d gotten a lot less picky after Mars. Except for, y’know, potatoes. So they ordered cocktails and looked at each other and shrugged, and sat back to watch everyone around them. 

About three minutes later, Elon Musk himself strode in, full of what sounded like sincere apologies. “I was stuck in traffic. Even after we got that high-speed rail line put in, transport around here is terrible.” His eyes glazed a little bit. “Should have someone look into that.” Musk was getting up there in age, but it didn’t look like it was slowing him down any. His hair was white, and he was walking slower than he used to, but the wrinkles surrounded eyes that were as bright and intense as ever. 

They all introduced themselves, had a seat, ordered full five-course meals (Mark hoped the portions were small), and waited. Chris, thanks to his upper-class family, was infinitely better than he was at small talk and social occasions like this, but apparently he wasn’t in the mood to make the occasion too friendly. Hmm.

“A united front. I expected no less.” Musk said with a smile. “First, before we get to business, let me congratulate both of you on the year you’ve had. Two doctorates and a Nobel between you. Very impressive.” 

Both of them gave polite ‘oh, well, you know’ type deflections. Mark was mostly following Chris’ lead on this. NASA had made sure he could handle press events and meet and greets, but this sort of thing? He grew up going to ball games and chain restaurants, not this kind of stuff. 

Now he was dating a guy who grew up rich and ordered wine in a pub. Life was weird. 

“Well.” Musk said, straightening. “No one is quite sure what happened to turn you both off NASA, but there has been a lot of speculation in the aerospace industry.” 

Yeah. He bet. Mark did his best not to snort. 

“Whether you want to go back to NASA is none of my business. But the knowledge that both of you have is invaluable for humanity getting out to the stars. I want to know what I can do, to bring you back into the fold.” 

Chris sat back in his seat a little, and his eyebrows raised by about an angstrom. In this kind of social setting, it was his equivalent of standing up and yelling ‘HOLY SHIT!’ Mark kind of felt the same way. 

“Mark would definitely have some tricks to teach,” Chris said with a polite social smile, “but NASA is full of flight surgeons. So is SpaceX.” 

“Flight surgeons who’ve written books on the long-term effects of space travel? Observed it first-hand? Lived it? And a Nobel prize for nutrition, also having to do with space travel? As well as your experience. Doctor Beck, you do realize, you’re the only low-gravity trauma specialist in history?” 

“Ah.” Chris said elegantly, and dropped further back into his chair. “I never thought of it quite… like that.” 

Mark grinned into his drink. 

“You should. As we get better at going into space, there are going to be more non-fatal injuries to be dealt with. So far it’s been life or death, but that’s very clearly changing.” Musk said gravely. Then he sat back and let them eat. Dude had pushed through harder deals with truly ruthless people; Mark was sure they were subtly getting played in ways they didn’t even know. 

Dammit, Jim, he was a botanist, not a businessman. 

“I’m not going into space again.” Mark said, and was proud of himself for saying it so calmly. He was curious about what reaction he’d get. 

Musk glanced up from his plate sharply. “No. Surely not. I apologize for making you feel like that was even implied, Doctor Watney. But it does so happen that I have a space station and am interested in working on growing more food in space. A team of scientists, with you directing them from the ground? A lot could be accomplished. Especially if you also worked with the engineers to design new habitats for trial.” 

Well, shit. That was like offering him a box of candy, wasn’t it. Damn sneaky old bastard. Mark pretty much resigned himself on the spot that they were going to wind up doing whatever Musk had in mind. The guy knew how to buy people off, and money was the least of how he did it. Anyone could offer them money, but only Elon Musk had a private space station at his personal command. 

“I’m working on starting up a non-profit.” He said, to see what Musk would offer him next. 

“Come on at SpaceX as a consultant.” Musk said with an easy shrug. “Run some experiments from mission control, kick ideas around with my engineers, give lectures a couple times a year on problem-solving and anything else you have to teach about your experiences, run your organization the rest of the time. Tell me, what do you plan to do?” 

“Agriculture. It’s a mess. Want to push through some reforms.” 

“Excellent idea. You’re the ideal person to take that on.” Musk said with an approving nod. “Sign up with us, I’ll donate five million as a thank you. Get you started.” 

Mark considered trying to be a big-time wheeler dealer about this, and decided, fuck it. “You drive a hard bargain.” 

Musk threw back his head and laughed out loud. “On a personal level, I hope it’s not rude to say, I’m glad to see you’re doing so well.” 

“Thanks. I’m a stubborn asshole, it got me through.” 

Musk laughed again. 

“While I was looking after him on the Hermes,” Chris suddenly decided to contribute, “I was worried, and he told me he’d be fine, because he was like a cockroach.” 

Musk shook his head at both of them, chuckling. 

“You don’t have to tell the billionaire futurist I’m a cockroach.” Mark grumbled. 

“I said YOU said you were LIKE a cockroach.” Chris pointed out. 

Mark shut up because Musk was laughing again. 

“So what about me?” Chris asked. 

This was the answer Mark was dreading. Chris wanted to go back up; Mark could tell, even if Chris hadn’t figured it out for himself yet. While Mark was down to sane levels of exercise, Chris was still keeping up with his NASA fitness plan, including all the goddamn running. He’d stayed in touch with a lot of the people at NASA, on a scientific level, and knew they were messaging back and forth constantly about research. And every once in a while, Mark would catch him staring up at the night sky with a distant look on his face. 

Mark absolutely refused to be the kind of guy who wouldn’t let his partner do what he wanted because of some needy emotional bullshit. That would make the shrinks right about the co-dependency, and fuck them. 

Also maybe because he loved Chris and wanted him to be happy. 

But mostly, fuck the shrinks. 

“May I ask,” Musk started, a bit delicately, “is there a reason you’re not still at NASA analyzing all the data you got on the crew during the Ares Three mission? The six of you more than doubled the record for humans in a low gravity environment. Not to mention Doctor Watney’s adventure. You wrote a book about the topic. You’re a leading expert, possibly THE leading expert, as well as a research subject.” 

Adventure. Ha. He was totally stealing that one. Adventure. This guy was slick as shit out a goose. 

“They wanted to turn me into a guinea pig.” Mark told Musk. He wanted that to get out, actually. Let the rest of the aerospace community find out what raging assholes NASA had been. At the time, Mark had only wanted to GET AWAY, but now, with a year of looking back, he worried about what would happen to the next astronaut who had an ‘adventure’. “They were talking about me staying in the labs for medical testing indefinitely. Never even asked me. Took for granted that I’d basically live there and let them run me through MRI tubes or draw blood or take biopsies or whatever they felt like that day.” Which hadn’t helped the medical PTSD he’d already been developing. The final straw had been finding out they’d been taking tissue samples without even telling him. 

He had told his shrink in no uncertain terms that if she mentioned to Chris that he had medical PTSD, they would never find said shrink’s body. At first the shrink tried to act like it was a joke, the threat, until Mark made it very clear HE WAS NOT KIDDING. Then he got more intense psych for another week. 

Fuckin’ shrinks. 

“They locked me out of the data. I was only allowed on the research team if I’d support keeping Mark there.” Chris added. “Typical government strong-arm tactics.” 

Musk shook his head. 

“I’ve had an idea to force their hand, get Chris back on the team since he’s the one most likely to turn it into something useful. Been sort of poking at it.” Mark shrugged. “It’s not ready yet, though.” 

“What?” Chris asked blankly. 

Mark smiled at him. His heart was in his eyes, and he didn’t care. “The rest of the crew and I? We’ve written it up. The whole mission, start to finish. Our version. We were going to have you add your input, then drop it on Teddy’s desk and tell him to get cooperative or we’d publish.” Saying it in front of Elon Musk almost assured word would get out to the rest of the community, and everyone in aerospace would wonder what secrets they had to tell. Rumors and speculation might work even better than facts; Teddy Sanders was an uptight, obsessive son of a bitch. 

Chris’ jaw dropped. 

“Oh, I would dearly love to read that.” Musk sighed. “Any time you want to make an old man happy, pass along a copy, hmm?” 

“You’re probably the last guy in the world Sanders would want seeing that.” Mark told him. 

Musk smiled brightly. “Yes. Exactly.” He turned to Chris. “However, Doctor Beck, to answer your question? One of the first things I’d do is use my own leverage to get you back on that research team. It would be a joint NASA and SpaceX project, with you directing any further testing of Doctor Watney at SpaceX facilities. With Doctor Watney’s voluntary cooperation or not at all, of course. I would stand for nothing less. I’d also love to have you work with my flight surgeons, teach them what you know, and put together any references and papers you can on the subject. Open source. Health care shouldn’t be for profit.” 

Mark sighed. That last bit sucked Chris in, and Musk knew it. Chris was a goner. 

“And if I volunteered time at a local ER?” Chris asked. 

Musk spread his hands. “Very altruistic. I can only respect that.” He got a little more serious. “Most of what I want both of you to do for me, I want out in the open. The world needs what you have to teach. The only deal-breaker is proprietary SpaceX tech, and projects, which I want kept proprietary. I don’t think either of you would have an ethical issue with it; all of it follows the public goals of the company. We’d spell out the details in your contracts.” 

“I want to go to China, work with their space agency.” Mark said. “Share a couple lectures I’ve developed about what I’ve learned. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for them. The entire crew would be.” 

“Another excellent idea.” Musk said easily, and Mark thought he meant it. “As I said, I think the knowledge you both have needs to be shared with everyone. I want to facilitate that.” 

“We’ll think about it.” Chris said firmly, ending the discussion in no uncertain terms. 

Oooookay. Mark followed Chris’ lead and nodded. 

“Good, good.” Musk got the hint, the wily bastard. “Take as long as you like, I’ll give you all my contact information. So, Doctor Beck, you went to Yale, yes? And Doctor Watney got a doctorate from Harvard recently. How’s that working out for you both?” 

–

“So that happened.” Mark said, dropping down at their table in their pub. 

Chris sat next to him, still numb. “Did Elon Musk just offer to be our fairy godfather?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

Chris flagged their usual waitress and got a shot of whiskey, tossed it back. “Give me some thinking room.” 

“Sure. Take your time.” Mark was giving him the wide eyes. 

It took him a minute. “Oh, yeah, you’ve never seen medical students drink. Don’t worry about it. This is nothing.” 

“Right.” Mark said, very obviously not believing a word. 

“Fuck.” He considered another shot. 

“No more booze.” Mark said sharply. At Chris’ look, he explained “Since we got back we have been REALLY GOOD about coping methods and dealing with our issues in healthy ways and all that shit, and I would like to stay on that road, thank you very much.” He took a swig of his beer. “You know the shrinks are STILL waiting for one of us to fall apart. Motherfuckers send me e-mails about coping with PTSD and addiction every goddamn week. I am not giving the assholes the satisfaction. And neither are you.” 

“Not the best reason for intelligent life choices, but better than nothing.” Chris decided. 

“Help me out, Chris. Explain it for me. Talk me through.” Mark reached over and laid one hand over his. 

Their hands were so different, Chris thought. Mark’s were big, broad across the palms, and callused. Half the time he had dirt under his nails, he even called them ‘farmer hands’. His own were more slim and soft. He rubbed a thumb across Mark’s battered knuckles. From the scarring, he’d punched things a good bit when he was younger; Chris saw a lot of similar injuries in the ER. One day he’d get that story out of Mark. Knowing they had a future together, he kind of enjoyed waiting for it. 

Chris took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “When I was in kindergarten, my folks took me and Amy to a planetarium. It was a program about a project NASA was trying to get funded, Ares, to explore Mars. That was it. I wanted to be an astronaut. The entire family’s doctors, you know that.” 

Mark nodded. Except for his one uncle, who they joked was the black sheep of the family. He was a senator. ‘Overachievers’ didn’t begin to communicate the Beck family; Chris’ twin sister was a neurosurgeon, and they teased her for being a slacker because she went through school at the normal pace instead of skipping grades like Chris had. Mark had doctorates and a badass reputation and he was still intimidated as hell, even though they were nothing but friendly. 

“Well, couldn’t let them down, so I was gonna be a doctor astronaut. I worked my ass off, every day. Skipped grades. My parents wouldn’t let me leave high school until I was sixteen, because of the social end of my development. Now, looking back, it was smart and I’m grateful. At the time I was pissed as hell.” He drank some wine, held Mark’s hand. “Imagine a thirteen year old kid screaming at his parents because they won’t let him go to college. Because that sure made me look mature and ready to go.” He shook his head and laughed a little bit. “Got into Yale, didn’t even think about it at the time, of course I was going to go to one of the best schools in the country. Did pre-med and biology degrees together, two degrees at the same time, and was mad at myself that it took me three years. I’d been shooting for two, because I’d tested out of everything possible while I was rattling around high school, bored as hell. But biology would be useful, and NASA likes people who work in multiple fields.” 

“Fuck.” Mark had never heard any of this before. He knew Chris’ bio and education, of course, but he’d never heard it straight from him. Even a glance at his education and professional history said ‘driven’, but FUCK. 

“Started my internship at eighteen. I looked about twelve, so that was fun. Pushed as hard as I could, but they wouldn’t let me cut corners, insisted I do the traditional route, full mandated year. I didn’t feel like I was accomplishing enough fast enough, and joined the Air Force Reserve. Boot camp was really fun, because by that time I looked about fifteen. The running joke on base was, did I have permission to be driving my mom’s car. Did my residency there, specialized in flight medicine, got a master’s in bio and did a lot of research while I was at it and wrote that book, all in about four years. Worked a quick rotation at McMurdo where I first met Lewis, and NASA picked me up before I turned thirty. Their youngest intake ever until Johanssen came along. Left the Air Force as Major Beck. The sendoff party, they gave me a fake ID showing I was twenty-one, so I could drink when I got to NASA.” 

“I’m amazed you didn’t burn out.” Mark said softly. 

“In retrospect, so am I. Took on NASA like it had insulted my mother,” Chris smiled when Mark laughed at that one, “decided I STILL wasn’t doing enough, and pushed until I got into the specialized EVA training. That was my one deviation from the master plan.” 

“Of course you had a master plan.” 

“Shit yes, I was going to Mars. Laid it all out, adjusted the plan every year on my birthday. But space. That was AMAZING. The more I learned about actual space, the cooler it got. I didn’t want to be a scientist sitting inside a space station, I wanted to be an ASTRONAUT.” 

“So the EVA training.” 

“Yeah. I loved it. Had nothing to do with my plan, was completely an indulgence for the love of it. Given the psych of it all, looking back, I’m relieved I finally had the sense to do something for enjoyment, even if it was still career oriented. When we did the slingshot, around the sun to go back and get you? I had to go out and fix some stuff. One of the dishes, some shielding. Got out there, I’m working away, tethered and my magnetic boots and all that, perfectly safe-” 

“HA.” Mark said. 

“-PERFECTLY SAFE,” Chris repeated, “and I looked up, looked around. The sun was almost directly ahead of us. It was like a wall. The sun spots we never see from Earth were so big, you felt like you could fall into one. Mars off to one side, too far away that red bastard, and Mercury off to the other. Mercury was right THERE, felt like I could reach out and touch it. Deimos was transiting Mars, and if I stared I could actually see it move. It was... You know how once in a while everyone in space kind of refers to the universe as god?” 

“Yeah.” 

Chris nodded. “My breath went short, to the point Lewis called in to ask if I was okay. Most incredible experience of my life.” 

Mark shook his head, took a drink. Chris would be going back up if his ophthalmologists allowed it. 

“So anyway, let’s say the rescue and getting you back home was a negative experience.” 

Mark laughed roughly. 

“I’m not in any way dismissing what you went through. But. Negative experience.” 

“It’s fine.” Mark assured him. “I know exactly what you mean. And fuck, Chris, you’re entitled to your feelings, too. That wasn’t all about me. There were six of us.” Five of whom had felt completely helpless as NASA fucked them over by remote control. 

“The whole way home, I was basically chanting ‘I am never doing this again’ in my head. I absolutely meant it. When we left NASA, I meant it. I made that decision when I found out you were alive, and they knew for two months before they told us. I still mean it.” 

“But that moment on the EVA.” 

“’I’ve trod the high untrespassed sanctity of space.’” Chris murmured. 

“’Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.’” Mark replied. 

Chris lifted Mark’s hand and kissed one beat-up knuckle, not only for getting the quote, but for understanding. “Whole way home, I kept thinking, I busted my ass for thirty years to be an astronaut, now what?” 

“This has been a really quiet year for you, hasn’t it?” Mark asked, suddenly understanding. 

“Hardest year of my life.” Chris said with a straight face, and felt immensely better when Mark laughed with him. “I’m so glad you get this stuff.” 

“Me too.” After that first time, they almost never indulged in public, but Mark leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. 

“I put my life back together this year. Gave it all up, walked away. Slowed down. Rebuilt. Worked in the ER, saved lives, saw immediate results of my training, every day. Made friends, found the love of my life. I’m starting to settle down, to accept, to sort of relax into it-” 

“And here’s Elon Musk waving everything you ever wanted under your nose in temptation. Like offering a bottle of tequila to a recovering alcoholic.” 

“Yeah.” Chris said with relief. Mark got it. Of course he understood. It was Mark. 

“What’s stopping you from leaping back into the tequila with a happy shout?” 

Chris looked up at Mark, saw that open, easygoing face. Worry and concern there, but love. “How could I?” 

Mark blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“Jesus, Mark. You had the worst possible experience to ever have and still come out the other side, and you’re expected to sit idly by while your lover goes back into the whole adrenaline rush?” 

“Oooh, no. You do not get to use me as a reason to say no to this.” 

“I’m not USING you. I love you. To do this right, I’d need to work on the space station, at least a little. Do drills, put people through surgical training. Actually work out EMS protocols for low and zero gravity, so no one else has to improvise like we did. Asking you to agree to that is cruel. It’s not what we had in mind when we got together.” 

“As I recall, we didn’t know quite what we had in mind, except that we’d do it together. When we got together. And oh look, we’re talking about doing this - together.” 

“You’d be happy with me going back?” 

Mark blew out a breath. “Happy may be a strong word. I’ve been thinking about it since just-call-me-Elon called last night.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“What else would he want? He called you, not me. He wanted Doctor Beck. I’m a happy bonus.” Mark shook his head. “I can’t believe how BRILLIANT you are, and you don’t seem to know it. I’m an idiot who got lucky and was too stubborn to die. Your education and achievements are one of a kind. You’re too unique to be wasted in an ER, other people can do that job.” 

“Oh, please.” 

Mark waved at the bartender, signaled for another beer. “I think I could handle you going to the space station. It’s pretty routine these days.” 

“You could?” 

“If we could work out a way for you to use a bio monitor I could watch, it would help.” Mark shrugged uncomfortably, embarrassed. “Maybe a week at a time. If your ophthalmologist clears it, which is a whole other issue. They probably won’t want you up there longer than that, either. Cranial pressure on your optic nerve, all that happy shit, you know more about that than I do.” 

Chris sat, stunned, while the waitress brought them refills and cleared away their empties. 

“You don’t want to stress me out. I appreciate it. But I want you to be happy. You’ve wanted to go back up for a while now; you get this look on your face, staring up at the sky some nights. I’m not going to stand in your way.” Mark said simply. 

“I love you.” Chris whispered. 

“Good.” Mark answered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem quoted by Chris and then Mark is "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. It's very well known among pilots and astronauts: 
> 
> Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,  
> And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;  
> Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth  
> Of sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things  
> You have not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung  
> High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there  
> I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung  
> My eager craft through footless halls of air...  
> Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue  
> I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace  
> Where never lark or even eagle flew --  
> And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod  
> The high untrespassed sanctity of space,  
> Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop acting like I’m going to have a heterosexual freak-out if you touch me wrong. We spent most of the last thirty-six hours in bed, for fuck’s sake. I enjoyed every damn minute of it. If I don’t like something you do, I’ll SAY SO. I’m not going to dump you because you bit my ass wrong.”

Chris was still having trouble dealing. When they left the pub, Chris pulled him along, back to his apartment, and Mark followed willingly. Chris wanted him? Chris could have him. Simple enough. His apartment was filled with antiques like Mark’s was filled with plants. Mark was always afraid of bumping into anything, even though Chris treated them casually. Mark shed his jacket and tie, tossed them on the rack by the door, turned and stepped right into Chris. 

“Oh, hey-” He started, and Chris cupped his face in his hands and leaned in, kissing him deeply. Chris’ hands were shaking. Mark pulled him in and held him, rubbing his back, as the kiss went on, tongues and teeth and soft noises from both of them. Mark wound up backed up against the wall as Chris rocked against him and trembled. Time for another serious discussion. Damn it to hell. Together barely a week and a major crisis. 

Moving fast to catch Chris by surprise, Mark got them turned them around and pinned Chris to the wall. He grabbed Chris’ face and held it still, looking into his eyes. “Quit holding back.” 

“I-” Chris grabbed onto his wrists, hard. 

“No excuses, don’t give me any bullshit.” Mark snarled, giving him a little shake. “Stop acting like I’m going to have a heterosexual freak-out if you touch me wrong. We spent most of the last thirty-six hours in bed, for fuck’s sake. I enjoyed every damn minute of it. If I don’t like something you do, I’ll SAY SO. I’m not going to dump you because you bit my ass wrong.” 

Instead of the laugh he’d been hoping for, Chris closed his eyes and hung on harder. “I can’t help it. I spent YEARS thinking I couldn’t have you, and now I do.” 

“You’ve been trying to hold back since the first time I kissed you. Knock this shit off.” Mark kissed him roughly. “I am not a goddamn delicate flower and treating me like one ANNOYS THE FUCK OUT OF ME.” 

Chris’ eyes opened then, his pupils dilated, and his breathing picked up. There was something in his face, something feral he’d never seen before, that made Mark’s own breath uneven. “Give me your word, right now, that you will TELL ME, if I do anything you don’t like.” 

“Of course I fucking will!” Mark nearly shouted in frustration. “Have I ever, IN MY ENTIRE LIFE, not told people what I thought?” 

That finally did it. Chris snapped, like he’d seen once before, in that bullshit group therapy session. But this time, oh, fuck, this time Chris jerked his hands free, slammed Mark back into the wall, and ripped his shirt open. Mark thought he said something sophisticated like ‘guh’ as Chris scratched his nails down his chest. 

“Why are you wearing an undershirt?” Chris grumbled, pulling both shirts over his head, then leaning in and BITING Mark’s ‘17’ tattoo. HARD. 

“Oh fuck.” Mark said weakly. 

Chris jerked back a little. “You asked for it.” He undid another button on his own shirt, pulled the tie down some more, and yanked the whole works off over his head. Mark reached out and stroked a hand down his chest, over the curls of dark hair. He didn’t get much time to enjoy before Chris dropped to his knees in a gesture that looked, oh damn, really practiced. “Been wanting to do this forever.” Chris said, looking up at him, lips red, eyes completely blown, hair in all directions, while he undid Mark’s pants. 

Mark was having a lot of trouble functioning. He squeaked when Chris roughly jerked his pants down a little, freed his cock, and oh god, was that deep-throating? It was. Mark shouted to the ceiling. He didn’t know what. 

“Yeah. Keep making noise.” Chris told him, voice wrecked, and went back down on him. 

Mark got a handful of Chris’ hair and concentrated on not falling. Considering how much sex they’d had in the last two days, Mark had to beg for mercy in a really short amount of time. “Stop.” He tugged on Chris’ hair. “Wait a sec.” He gave another shout as Chris pulled away, and looking down his own body at Chris on the floor in front of him, looking up? That about ripped his heart out. He had to stop and wheeze for a while before he could talk. “Jesus. Give me a minute.” He closed his eyes before he came from the view alone, and tilted his head back against the wall. Right. Baseball stats. 

That worked for about two seconds until Chris untied his shoes, then pulled his pants down and made him step out of everything. “Your records never mentioned you were a sex ninja.” Mark told him weakly. 

Chris laughed darkly, shucking out of his own pants and shoes in seconds. The sound literally raised the hairs on Mark’s neck. “Are you kidding? What do you think I did that last three years in high school?” He grabbed Mark’s hand and pulled him into the darkened bedroom. “It’s also why that undergrad degree took three years instead of two.” 

“Oh god.” Mark thought he was reasonably experienced, but he was never going to keep up. 

There was another laugh, then Chris pushed him down onto his back in the middle of the bed and crawled up over him. “You SWEAR you want me to cut loose, and you’ll tell me if it’s too much?” 

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, Chris.” 

Chris made a rough noise in his throat. “I enjoy your swearing far too much.” He crawled off to the nightstand and came back with some lube. “Condom?” he asked. 

Ooookay. This was, uh, new. So far they hadn’t gotten much past really gentle hand and blow jobs. “Ah, for me, or you?” 

“You.” 

He relaxed a little. “Not unless you want me to wear it.” 

Chris slammed the drawer shut. Right then. He could do this. When Chris crawled back and crouched over him, he realized he meant to ride Mark, and good, that made him less likely to hurt Chris by accident, not knowing what in hell he was doing. That was good. “Hang on.” Chris froze, then backed off immediately, looking worried. “Quit that, I fucking mean it.” Mark snapped at him, then re-arranged the pillows until he was propped up and touching Chris would be easier. “All right.” 

Chris relaxed. “Talk to me.” He demanded, crawling back over Mark’s body. 

“I can do that. Why?” 

“Mostly because it’s hot as hell, but also it lets me know you’re all right.” Chris very casually squirt some lube into his hand and reached behind himself and Mark’s brain shorted out. 

“Wait, wait, slow down.” Mark demanded, grabbing the lube and getting some, himself. 

“We can go slow next time.” Chris told him, and from the way his arm was twisted around, Mark could tell he was opening himself up right then. Mark reached back and slid his hand along Chris’ until- Oh. Wow. Okay. 

“Let me do this. Talk me through it.” Mark pulled Chris’ hand away and carefully, carefully slid one finger into Chris. INTO Chris. Oh, fuck. It was different than a woman felt, muscles working differently in different places, and he circled his finger slowly, trying to get a, ha, feel for things. Chris moaned and dropped his head back. “You’re so gorgeous.” Mark told him, and leaned up to press a kiss to those impossible abs. 

“You’ll take too long.” Chris told him, and- holy shit, pushed one of his own fingers in alongside Mark’s. 

“I’m gonna come from this, without you even touching me.” 

“I can improvise a cock ring for you.” Chris said, adding more lube. Mark honestly couldn’t tell if he was kidding. 

“I had no idea you were kinky.” Mark said, twisting his finger – he’d been reading up – and, ah, there. 

Chris rocked up onto his knees higher and moaned. “Mmmm. I love your hands. They’re so big.” He pushed back down against Mark’s finger, and Mark touched his prostate again, grinning when Chris made more noises. Chris laughed and leaned forward on his free hand to give Mark a filthy kiss. Then he was batting Mark’s hand away and raising up and- 

“What do you need me to do?” Mark asked, feeling strangled as Chris pressed down against him, then gave a shout as his dick slipped inside. 

“Hold still.” Chris gasped, eyes rolled up in his head. 

He could do that. He was pretty sure. It took all his self control not to push up into Chris as he lowered himself slowly, taking Mark’s cock into him and he was tight and hot and it was Chris and he couldn’t stop touching him, his nipples, running his nails down his thighs to hear Chris groan. He ran a careful finger over where Chris was stretched around him and stopped because the noises from Chris were going to make him come immediately. 

After forever, Chris was, what, seated, oh god, and they both held still, breathing heavily. “Give me a second.” Chris said. 

Mark groaned. “I need coaching, damn it.” 

Chris wheezed a laugh. He bent forward, slowly, slowly, to kiss Mark, and even that moved them together enough that they were both groaning when their lips met. “This has been a fantasy of mine forever. Let me ride you. Do whatever you like while I’m doing it. But. Talk.” 

“The talking really does it for you, huh?” Mark asked, kissing Chris softly. “Telling you how pretty you are, sitting on my cock? How I want to see if I can make you come with my fingers inside you?” Chris tightened around him and Mark shouted and rocked upward. That led to both of them making ragged sounds and clutching at each other until they came to rest again. “Oh my GOD, CHRIS.” 

Laughing, Chris did it again, which led to a repeat of the whole moaning and grabbing process. “A space pirate needs his very own sex ninja, doesn’t he?” 

“I love you.” Mark grinned up at him, and Chris froze for a second, then gave a smile of joy and kissed him. Instead of another dick squeeze, Chris sort of fluttered and he might have made a really undignified squeak because Chris was laughing again. “What the hell was that?” 

“Muscles finally relaxing all the way.” Chris rose slowly, then slid back down. “Oh, yeah. Nice cock, Watney.” 

Mark stared at him for a moment before he recovered. “Very talented ass, Beck.” 

“Damn right.” He agreed. “Move with me if you want. Don’t hurt your back.” 

Was he kidding? “Are you kidding? Bossy Beck, RIGHT NOW?” 

“Always.” Chris told him, and started riding him. 

After that Mark kind of lost track of everything except the feeling of pushing himself up into Chris, the sounds Chris made, and Chris’ ass in his hands. He knew he was still talking, but damn if he knew what he said. It was barely controlled, and Chris was crouched over him, laughing as he moved, hands rough as he grabbed Mark’s wrists and pinned him down, biting his neck. After that he was afraid he didn’t last long at all, and he shouted Chris’ name to the ceiling as he pushed up one more time, hard, and fell apart. He felt Chris come at about the same time, FELT it, and grinned at the sound of Chris shouting his own name and pulled Chris down for a rough kiss. 

He closed his eyes and breathed for a minute. Or ten. 

Chris was laying across his chest, boneless, and Mark had one hand fisted in his hair, pretty hard. Whoops. He let go, ran his fingers through it instead. Chris made a sort of ‘mm’ and otherwise didn’t move. His dick sort of slid out of Chris then, and they both made sounds in their throat. Chris sucked in a breath, groaned a little. 

“You okay? Did I hurt you?” There was a sort of hush after all the noise they’d made and Mark stroked a hand down all the smooth, muscled skin of Chris’ back. “I hope not, that was amazing. YOU were amazing.” 

“I’d have hurt myself, you realize. You were laying there.” 

Mark growled. “Are you hurt, dammit?” 

“No. The muscles tighten back up again, after, makes for wicked-” he arched a little and shivered, “wicked aftershocks.” Mark started to roll them over, and Chris stopped him. “Don’t, you’ll hurt your back. Or your ribs.” 

“For fuck’s sake-” 

“Humor me. I know your back hurts as often as not.” Chris sat up, then immediately shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Damn.” 

“You are sexy as hell.” Mark didn’t remember putting more love bites on Chris’ chest, but it had to have been him. “I like marking you up, making you mine.” He ran his hand up Chris’ thigh, ran a thumb along the crease of his hip, and grinned when Chris shivered and gasped again. “All those shivers and moans make me want to do this all the time, you realize. Exploration is sort of my thing.” 

Chris closed his eyes and gave another little moan. “Good, that was the reaction I was hoping for. Hang on, let me clean us up.” Chis made to crawl off the bed, and Mark caught him, pulled him in for a kiss first. He started to get up too, and Chris planted a hand in his chest and pushed him back down. “Let me take care of you.” 

“Didn’t you just ride me like a circus pony?” Mark asked, confused. “Aren’t you exhausted?” 

Chris shrugged. “Sometimes really good sex wakes me up.” He wandered off to the bathroom.

“I would like to point out,” Mark called over the running water, “I am not having a heterosexual freak-out.” 

Chris leaned out around the door jamb and smiled brilliantly. “I noticed that. Thanks.” 

Mark threw his hands in the air in frustration. 

–

Chris had not meant to introduce Mark to anal sex quite so, well, intensely. But he’d let Mark goad him into it, which probably summarized too much of how their relationship worked. Mark really was a stubborn jerk. He could say it. It was one of the reasons he loved the guy, but wow did Mark know how to push his buttons. 

“So how are you doing?” He asked Mark, laying down next to him. 

Mark gave him a look of complete disbelief. “If you fuck me next, will you FINALLY believe I’m okay with this? Or would you still worry?” 

And there he was. He had to laugh. “I’d still worry. I can’t help it. I worry all the time. It’s what I do.” Thinking of what his sister used to say about it, he added, “More than a hobby, less than a profession.” He ran a hand up over Mark’s torso, feeling the scars under his fingers, including the one he’d left there, and gave it a quick kiss. He pressed gently over where Mark’s ribs had been broken. “How are your ribs?” Since he was already getting shit for being a worrier, he’d ask. He’d flopped down on top of Mark pretty hard there at the end. Fulfilling a major fantasy and having reality be even better was really incredible. He leaned in and kissed Mark on the temple, where he thought he’d seen a few silver hairs recently. 

Mark rolled toward him, so they were facing each other, sharing the same pillow, and put a hand on his hip. He sighed. “This is who you are, isn’t it. Bossy Beck the worrywart, that part of you goes clear to the bone.” 

Might as well admit it. “With people I love, yeah. Add in that I used to be your doctor and have your medical records memorized, I’m sure I’m insufferable. Always will be.” Mark would have to accept that about him, because there was no way he’d be able to turn that off. Ever. 

“I love you too.” They kissed a while. “How about, you try to worry less when we’re alone together, and I’ll try not to cuss you out about it.” 

“I kind of like the cussing.” Chris admitted. “That way I know what you want, and that you’re okay. It’s when you’re quiet that I REALLY worry.” 

Mark rolled onto his back and pressed his hands to his eyes, groaning. “Oh my fucking god.” 

Chris leaned his forehead against the teeth marks he’d put in Mark’s tattoo and laughed with pure happiness. 

–

They gave themselves time to let the whole SpaceX idea simmer. Live with it for a while, re-evaluate. They were both enjoying their lives exactly as they were; they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and somehow they kept finding more things to talk about. Mark would do his work while Chris was doing shifts in the ER, then they’d eat and dive back into each other. 

“You’re losing weight.” Chris announced, running his hands up Mark’s back. 

Mark grunted. He was face down on his bed, and Chris was sitting on the backs of his thighs, doing therapeutic massage on his back. Chris was still wearing his jeans, and it sounded a lot sexier than it was, because Chris was working on getting his vertebrae to line up properly, so it hurt like bitch. 

“Seriously, Mark, I can feel your ribs more clearly than even yesterday.” Chris was climbing off of him, and Mark was a tiny bit glad because even though they kept him in working order, the spinal massage sessions were hell. (There were some other massage sessions, though, oh yeah, baby, he could live like that.) “What do you want to eat? Italian?” 

“You’re going to drag me out of bed to eat?” Mark asked in disbelief. Usually his ‘reward’ for putting up with the spinal work was a blow job. He rolled over and yeah, Chris was standing there with his phone in his hand and the Doctor Beck look on his face. Fine, he could eat. “Italian is fine. Chicken parmesan.” That had enough protein and carbs to keep Chris happy. And Chris would get some antipasto full of vegetables and feed him that, too. Boom. Balanced meal. 

Chris called in their order, tossed his phone back on the bedside table. “Delivery in half an hour.” 

Mark squinted at his clock. Huh. Almost midnight. He squinted more when Chris snapped on the lights, grabbed the everything-proof dive watch he’d taken off earlier, and started taking his pulse. “Really?” 

“Are you tired? More than you should be at this hour, I mean. Any strange pains?” Chris was now prodding at his lymph nodes, up along his jaw, then down. He moved on to Mark’s ribs, then the scarring on his abdomen. 

“Are you KIDDING me?” 

Chris sort of caught himself and visibly tried to get a grip. Then he shrugged, damn it, and demanded Mark follow his finger, and worked him through what Mark KNEW was an on-the-fly quickie neuro exam. “Do you have a thermometer here?” 

“No.” Actually he did have a med kit, two, under the bathroom and kitchen sinks, but he was not laying here naked in his own damn bedroom while Chris did an actual exam on him. ESPECIALLY WHEN HE WAS OWED A BLOW JOB. 

“I don’t believe you.” Chris said, because Chris knew him. But instead of ransacking the apartment, he sat down on the edge of the bed, leaned in, and kissed Mark quickly. “When’s the last time you had any blood work done?” 

Mark had all sorts of tests run every month, NASA claimed it was for research, but he knew that in part it was to monitor him for organ failure and cancer and other happy shit. No one had the first clue how Mars had affected him in the long term and had zero predictions on it, but everyone knew prolonged starvation like he’d survived was BAD. It was the only reason he cooperated with the testing; early warning of health issues seemed like a smart idea. “Wait. You aren’t getting the reports?” Because he had ALSO told NASA he’d only cooperate if Chris got copied on all test reports. 

“No?” 

“Those MOTHERFUCKERS.” Mark rolled out of bed, threw on a tee shirt and sweat pants, stomped down the hall to his office, and sat down at his desk. “I get about a pint of blood drawn at the beginning of every month and they run every test imaginable on it. They were supposed to be copying you on all results.” 

“Oh.” Chris gave a wobbly sort of smile that settled into a quiet grin. 

“You thought I was blocking you.” 

“No, not that. I thought you… well, I’m not your doctor any more. Legally. I thought you were happy with that.” 

“Please. You’re the only medical I trust to really be one hundred percent in my corner and not treat me like a lab rat. Hang on.” He started pounding on his keyboard, composing an e-mail addressed to his entire medical team in Houston. Chris leaned over his shoulder to read it and he let him. 

-STOP BLOCKING MY TEST RESULTS THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO BE GOING TO BECK, OR I WILL START BLOCKING MY TEST RESULTS GOING TO YOU. Send him all my records dating back to when I left Isolation. You argue with me on this, I will not allow you so much as a microgram of any of my bodily tissues, ever again.- 

He copied Teddy Sanders to make his fucking point. 

“You really want the subject line to be ‘You withholding asshole motherfuckers’?” Chris asked, laughing. 

“Hell yes, I do.” He hit send. 

“I just thought. What signature line are you using for your official e-mail?” 

Mark snickered. Chris got e-mailed from his personal account, which usually got signed with an ‘MW’ or in the case of Chris specifically, heart and flower emojis when he was in a mood. “Doctor Mark Watney, Pirate King of Mars.” Chris had been grinning for quite a while now, and he looked so beautiful, Mark grinned back and leaned over to kiss him, stroking his hand along his cheek. “Come on, food will be here soon.” 

“We need to figure out why you’re losing weight, though.” Chris followed him out to the living room, still shirtless. He hadn’t shaved in long enough that he was starting with an actual beard and Mark kept running his fingers through the scruff on his face. He looked REALLY good. And Mark knew there was no way Chris would go for any sex until after Mark ate a full meal. 

Ugh, time to face the music. Dating a doctor had some ups, but it also had some down sides. “I’ve forgotten to eat a couple times.” He admitted. He knew he couldn’t afford to miss meals, even now. He’d probably never fully recover from the starvation rations on Mars and still had nutrition issues because his body couldn’t absorb some nutrients as well as it should. NASA had tried to send him an elaborate every-calorie-planned diet to follow, but he’d tossed it. Still, he knew the basics of what he needed to be eating (thank you, Bossy Beck) and was really conscious of that when he chose what he DID eat. If he got some of his fiber from popcorn and a few carbs and B complex from beer, well, NASA could kiss his ass if they didn’t like it. He didn’t DEPEND on that for nutrition. 

“MARK.” Chris was aghast. Because of course he was. 

“I’m adjusting to a new schedule, still getting in the groove of it.” Mark explained. The ‘new schedule’ was having Chris in his life, and he was NOT complaining. “It’s hard to eat every three hours, for fuck’s sake.” Especially when he took time to sleep. He should be getting up to eat in the middle of the night, and he was probably stuck like that for the rest of his life. Ugh. Excuse him for wanting to stay the hell in bed for a couple nights when he had a sexy guy in it with him. Chris got That Look on his face, and oh goddamn, he was going to have Doctor Beck overseeing his diet closely, now. Hopefully he’d chill when he got all Mark’s test results – they’d been looking better the last three or four months. 

“I’m fine, I’ll do better.” 

“I love you.” Chris told him, and wrapped him in a hug. 

“You think that’ll get you out of any and all arguments with me?” 

“So far it has.” Chris kissed his temple. 

“Yeah, fuck it, you’re right.” 

–

“We going to discuss the SpaceX thing?” 

“Not yet. Just… I need more time.” 

“Shh, it’s all right. Take as long as you need.” 

– 

Looking back later, Mark knew they were both in a little bubble where they ignored reality and enjoyed each other. It couldn’t last. But they wanted it to. Mark had needed to make a decision on where he’d be setting up his non-profit months ago, but he was waiting on Chris to decide what he wanted and Chris was still having trouble dealing with the SpaceX issue. So Mark stalled, and bided his time, and spent every second he could with Chris. They were on borrowed time, and he knew it. Chris probably knew it, too. They’d take it while they had it. Eventually the insanity that was their lives would reassert itself and they’d be plunged back into chaos, but for this little window of calm together, they would put it off until later. 

In the end, they got about three weeks. For them, it was kind of a miracle they got that long. 

“Son of a BITCH.” Mark ground out, rolling onto his back where he’d landed on the pavement. He glanced over. “You okay, kid?” 

The little girl, eyes huge, was curled in a tiny ball. She stared at him and nodded silently. 

“Good, good.” He reached out and patted her sneaker. Then he dropped his head back and took stock. He was going to be one giant bruise, and he was pretty sure he busted his ankle. FUCK. He’d broken a lot of bones as a kid and knew that feeling. His lower back was also making very familiar unhappy feels. Goddamn it. 

Fuck. Chris was going to flip out. EVERYBODY was going to flip out. 

Chris was at work, and Mark had headed downtown to talk to a lawyer about, hell, he didn’t know, tax-free whatsits. Until he knew where they’d settle, he was gathering data, and there was a hell of a lot of data to gather on running a non-profit. He’d been walking into the office building and there’d been a car accident; a car jumped the curb, headed straight for a kid who’d been standing, frozen, so he’d grabbed her and dragged her out of the way. 

And so, laying on the pavement, regretting his life choices. Still, what was he supposed to do, let her get hit? 

There were running feet and a guy crouched over him. “Hey man. How bad are you?” 

“Broken ankle, I probably wrenched my back. Nothing major. Just gonna lay here for a second or ten.” 

The guy took his pulse, started doing a fast exam for spinal damage that Mark knew very well from drills with Martinez and Lewis. “Military?” 

“Marines.” The guy said with a grin. “Levon.” 

“Mark.” He held up a hand. The guy shook it carefully. 

“You’re a hero, man, you saved that kid.” He looked up, called out to some other people. “Cops and paramedics on their way, chill ‘til they get here.” 

“Help me sit up.” Mark held out his hand. 

“You sure?” Levon asked while taking his hand and supporting him. 

The world bobbled a bit, then held steady. “If I’m flat on the ground when the medics get here, sure as shit they’ll haul me out in a backboard. I hate backboards.” 

Levon laughed. “Not your first rodeo, huh?” 

“No.” Probably not his last. But if anyone tied him down to a backboard he’d have a spectacular panic attack. Some asshole would probably take video and post it on social media. 

He looked over and the kid was now being held by someone who was probably her mother, given how they were crying over each other. “Thank you.” The woman said, when she saw him looking. 

“You’re welcome.” Mark told her. Damn, he wasn’t an asshole, of course he tried to save the kid. 

“Oh shit.” Levon said with a laugh, and Mark turned back to him. “I just realized who you are. Nice to meet you.” 

Instead of awe, Mark got a grin and another hand shake, which was pleasant enough. “You too. Thanks for the assist.” 

“No prob.” 

Then the ambulances screamed up, and paramedics came at him at a dead run and he told them “No backboards. NO BACKBOARDS! You need to take me to Mass General.” The only way he could think of to reassure Chris was to let Chris treat him. 

Fuuuuck. 

– 

Tuesday afternoons in the ER were usually quiet; Chris had been standing at the main nurse’s station chatting with the admin and a couple EMTs when the call came through – on the phone, not over the radio. Chris could feel his adrenaline spike; phones were for really private comms, reserved for horrifying disasters or scandals. “Yeah, yeah. Got it. Yeah.” The admin hung up, called up some ambulance telemetry on her monitor and turned it for Chris to see. It looked… perfectly normal? 

“Yes?” Chris said, confused. 

The admin, who he’d worked with since his residency, gave him a sympathetic look. “There was a car accident downtown. They’re bringing in one bystander, who is mostly fine. It’s Mark Watney.” 

Chris shut his eyes and breathed, then opened them and watched Mark’s pulse (a little high for him but normal and even) and O2 saturation (good) on the monitor. Blood pressure also slightly high but nothing out of the ordinary for the circumstances. “ETA? Primary complaint?” 

“Two minutes, broken ankle.” 

That could be infinitely worse. As a doctor he could easily track how a simple hairline fracture could lead to gangrene, amputation and death. But still. “Find Slep, have her on standby in Exam Two, tell her who her patient is. Call in whoever’s on the roll to relieve me, when they get here, sign me out. Get me if a major trauma case comes in.” 

“Got it.” 

He walked out to the entrance and got there in time to help open the back door of the ambulance. He looked inside. 

“I’m FINE.” Mark told him, sitting up in the stretcher, one foot elevated and covered in cold packs. 

“I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” He let out a long breath, and shook his head, then helped pull the stretcher out and wheel it inside.

“Not my fault! Some asshole hit another asshole and the car jumped the curb.” Mark grumbled. 

“Actually, he’d have been fine,” one of the paramedics put in helpfully, “but he pulled a kid out of the way of the car. Saved her life.” 

Of course he had. Chris, thinking of professionalism as well as having the entire staff he was in charge of tease him for the rest of his life, settled for a smile and patting Mark on the shoulder. “Nice work.” 

“Exam Two.” Chris told the paramedics, and turned to face the crowd of nurses, techs, and admin as Mark was wheeled away. Word had apparently gotten out. “It’s fine, I’m having a replacement called in for me. Looks like bumps and bruises.” He made shooing motions. “Go do your jobs, people, come on.” 

He got about twenty variants on “let me know if I can do anything”, he had the best coworkers, and then took a deep breath, got a grip on himself, and headed down the hall to Exam Two and his boyfriend laid out in a stretcher. 

By this time, he should be used to it. He never would be. 

– 

Mark rolled into an exam room and got parked, and he did some deep breathing because he absolutely hated medical anything. There was a tiny blonde woman, maybe five feet tall, standing there waiting. Her scrubs were covered in cartoon explosions and she had some kind of military unit insignia tattooed on her arm. 

“Fuck.” He said. 

“Yeah, I get you. Nobody wants to be here.” She said sympathetically. “I’m Allison Slepinski, and I’ll be your nurse today. Everyone calls me Slep. You will too.” 

“Okay.” Civilian medicine was clearly not the same as what he was used to. That would help. 

“Give me a run down. Every ache and pain.” She put her hands on a keyboard, and waited. 

Mark shut his eyes, thought about it. “Almost positive my ankle’s broken. I’ve broken bones before, I know what it feels like.” Keys rattled. “Wrenched my back. I also know what injury feels like there, too, and I’m pretty sure it’s pulled muscles. Some relaxants, some rest, a couple massages and I should be all right. Minor scrapes where I hit the pavement, bruises to go with, nothing deep or especially painful. Run of the mill jump and hit pavement stuff.” 

“Head?” 

“Feels fine? Nothing hurts, scalp or face, no headache, and I don’t remember hitting my head.” He thought for a moment, wiggled around some. “Neck feels normal, too.” 

“You NASA guys are so precise. Is it something they put in the water?” Slep asked absently, still typing. 

“No, it’s something they beat into us.” 

Slep gave a hoot of laughter, and Mark found himself actually smiling. 

Then Chris swept in. No, this was Doctor Beck in full steam, which was kind of hard to take when he was wearing the scrubs covered in little rocket ships that Mark gave him for Hanukkah. Fuck. 

“Okay.” Chris began. “We’re going to strip you down-” 

“Woohoo!” Mark tried, hoping to chill Chris out. No luck. Slep laughed, though. 

Chris glared. “...check you over for any injuries you haven’t noticed yet, in the adrenaline rush.” He pointed a finger at Mark when he started to argue. “Standard procedure. I can bring in someone else to do it, or Slep and I can, but it’s absolutely happening.” 

“Fine.” 

“Depending on what we find, we’ll probably put you in a gown-” 

Mark’s vision went bright and focused and goddamn it, PTSD, he did not need this right now. “No gown.” No reminders of the time in NASA, being stripped and talked around and treated like a thing. Speaking up, and being ignored. “Deal breaker.” 

“You’ll need at least X-rays for the ankle, likely an MRI for your back, those are both done more easily with you in a-” 

“I am not wearing a gown.” Mark repeated. 

Chris actually snarled. “Put on the fucking gown, we’ll get you a pretty one that closes in the back.” 

“I AM NOT HAVING FLASHBACKS TO KEEP YOU HAPPY ABOUT MY CLOTHING.” Mark bellowed. 

Whoops. 

Chris’ entire face closed off. Blank. Completely no expression. 

“Right then!” Slep stepped in. Both of them had forgotten she was there. “Beck, take a second. Mark, I can call you Mark, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“We’ll still do the exam, you can keep the tee shirt after, but you can’t do an MRI in jeans, there’s metal in them. Would some scrub pants work, instead?” 

Mark closed his eyes and gave thanks. When he opened them, Chris had turned and was facing the wall, hands on hips, head dropped forward. “Yeah. Scrub pants are fine.” 

“Any other triggers we need to know about?” Slep asked casually, very matter-of-fact. 

Chris’ shoulders got impossibly stiff. Shit. 

“Goddamnit.” He dropped his head back, stared at the ceiling. Someone had taped a poster of a field of flowers up there. Funny. “All of them? Enclosed, sterile spaces. The smell of rubbing alcohol. Being ignored while I’m trying to give input on my treatment will give me a panic attack for sure. Or make me violent. Fuck, I don’t know. Being injured in a medical facility.” 

“So basically, you hate it here.” Slep said easily, moving around him. “Can we hook you up to a bio monitor?” 

“Left arm, please.” Mark watched Chris give a full-body shudder and reminded himself, again, that he wasn’t the only one with PTSD. 

“Will touching you casually help, or make it worse?” 

Mark had never been asked that before. Huh. He considered. Mostly he considered Slep, who was dream nurse in terms of skill and professionalism. “Yeah, that’s fine, just don’t grab me without warning.” 

She smiled and patted his shoulder. “You know, your stuff is reasonable. I mean, who wants to get grabbed by surprise?” She put on the monitor, activated it, took his temperature with the little rolly forehead thing, clipped an O2 sensor on another finger, all at an easy pace that telegraphed her moves and gave him time to say no without checking in every five seconds and making him feel like an idiot. After a moment of examining all the sensors, she turned back to her computer and started entering more data. “Any other triggers?” 

In the corner, Chris’ shoulders were set and he was barely breathing. 

Fuck. 

“Well, if you want to put me in an MRI tube, you’re going to have to drug me to the gills.” Reminders of Mars AND the medical fun later at NASA, all together? HAHAHA YEAH NO. 

“We can do that.” She said mildly. “Hell, that’s a NORMAL reaction. Everyone hates those. I love enclosed spaces and I hate them. They’re too loud. And it’s really fuckin’ cold in there. Liquid helium? Honestly.” 

“All that.” Mark agreed. 

“Want some meds now? Anxiety? Pain?” 

“Yes. Both, please.” He wanted a Vicodin the size of his head. 

“Do you want me to bring in the bottles to dispense the pills from, so you can see that, or will the usual paper cup work all right?” 

“How much PTSD training have you had?” Mark had to ask. 

Slep grinned. “All of it. I was Army. Active duty, saw combat. Trust me, buddy, you cannot possibly throw anything at me I haven’t dealt with before. You haven’t had special forces training, right?” 

“...no. I’m a botanist.” 

“And nobody’s shooting at me. You’re downright low maintenance.” 

Mark felt himself relax a little more. “A paper cup of pills will be all right.” 

“I’ll go get them.” She glanced over at Chris, then looked back at Mark, raised her eyebrows. 

Mark smiled and nodded. “I’ve got it.” 

“Here’s your call button.” She looped it over the rail of the bed. “You know the drill.” She bustled out. 

“Is she super nurse? Grown in a lab for perfection?” Mark asked Chris, hoping that would get a response. 

Chris gave a little twitch. “Yeah, pretty much.” He told the wall. 

“Wanna come over here, hold my hand?” Mark was guilting him. He knew it. He didn’t care. 

Chris turned, and oh, damn. His eyes were wet, and haunted. But he walked over, lowered the railing on one side of the bed, propped his hip, took Mark’s hand. “How are you, really?” 

“Annoyed. I hate this shit. But I was honest. Other than the ankle, it’s bumps and bruises and some pulled muscles. I promise I would tell you if I thought it was anything more. In fact, I’ll promise right now, to never hold out on you if I think there’s something serious going on with my health.” In Chris’ eyes, that would be such a betrayal of trust, he didn’t know if their relationship would survive it. 

Plus, in his mind, Chris was and always would be his doctor, no matter what the laws said. And you told your doctor the important shit. 

“Okay.” Chris closed his eyes and Mark gently pulled off Chris’ glasses and wiped at the tears he saw there. “Okay.” He repeated, and leaned down to rest his head on Mark’s shoulder. Mark ran his fingers through Chris’ beard and up into his hair, leaned down, and kissed the top of his head. “How long have you had medical PTSD, and why didn’t you tell me?” 

Aaaand here they went. FUCK. “The guinea pig treatment from NASA, after we all got back. NOTHING you did on the way home caused me any problems at all, and my brain still, always, associates you with safety and comfort, all right? Here we are right now, I’m stressed out, and I want YOU to take charge of it. Even when you’re in full-on Doctor Beck mode, I know I’m safe with you. I think my brain was actively looking for something to develop PTSD over, honestly. Like Mars didn’t fuck me up too bad, all things considered, so I needed PTSD about something else. Brains are assholes. I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d feel responsible even though you HELPED by always, always having my back and doing what was best for me.” 

“I wish you’d told me.” 

“I do too, now. But I knew it’d hurt you, and I hate doing that. I should have told you. I’m sorry.” How had he been dumb enough to think he’d hide it, in a long term relationship. 

Chris sighed deeply and sat up, wiped his face, put his glasses back on. “I’ll work it so I can back you now, too. Don’t take the meds Slep brings you until I get back, okay? There are some things to set up, some stuff for you to sign.” 

“Sure. I’ll be here.” 

–

Chris paced in front of the locker room until his replacement stepped out. “How are you doing?” she asked. 

“Fine, I guess? Thanks for coming in.” 

“Any time.” She gave him a one-armed hug. “How do you want to deal with this?” 

“I’m going to change into street clothes, let Mark to sign off on me as his medical proxy, if he wants to. Stay here as his next of kin. I’d like to keep Slep on the lead with him, they’ve hit it off and her training makes her perfect for it. We’re waiting for an orthopedist to drag their ass down here; with his medical history I’d like a specialist to take a really good look at his ankle and back.” 

“Keep me posted. I’ll have to be the doctor of record, and look over your shoulder and sign off on everything, be kept in the loop. But I’ll let you deal with it unless I see something I don’t like.” 

That was beyond fair and going into major favor territory. “I really appreciate that. Thank you.” 

“Go change.” She told him gently, and squeezed his arm. 

–

Slep and Mark had decided not to wait on Chris for the exam, and the two of them had first taken off his shirt and she’d checked him over - “Hey, this one bruise looks kind of like a kitten, what do you think?” “Oh, right, you’ve got one of the number tattoos like Beck does. Badass.” - then they’d cut off his jeans, checked his bruises there, and she helped him into a pair of loose scrub pants, as promised. Nothing exciting or unexpected found. Mark was doing meditation exercises at the flowers on the ceiling when a stunning amazon of a woman with dark skin and close-cropped dark hair stepped into the room, and stayed by the door. He blinked at her. 

“I’m Doctor Cantrell.” She said with a smile. “Beck’s officially off duty, so I’ll be your doctor of record. I wanted to say hello.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Mark held out a hand, and she came over and shook it with a smile. 

“I’m going to let Beck work with you, but legally I need to be the one on record, so I have to stay informed on everything. You understand bureaucracy.” 

“Sure do.” 

“Unless you want a doctor other than Beck?” She asked gently. 

“No. I prefer him.” 

“I can’t fault you for choosing the best. We’ll have your back on this, wanted to let you know.” 

“I really appreciate it.” 

“We look after our own.” She informed him with a quick pat on his hand, and swept back out. 

Chris had some really amazing coworkers. 

Slep waltzed in then with a couple familiar medical kits, pulling an IV stand hung with bags he knew all too well. “Motherfucker.” 

“Sorry.” She told him. “We got your basic records from NASA. Dude. You badass.” 

Mark rolled his eyes at her. 

She laughed. “Anyway, you’re going to be here a while, and your nutritional needs are pretty strict. No one knows for sure if you’ll need orthopedic surgery or not, so they don’t want to give you food.” 

“IV nutrition.” Mark curled his lip. 

“I see you’re familiar with it.” 

“I prefer steak.” 

“I would too.” 

“Can Chris hook it up?” 

Slep’s face softened a little. “Yeah. It’s a grey area again, and I’ll be signing your records saying I did it, so I need to be here and watch, so I actually can discuss it later if I have to.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“He’s changing, handing off the shift, and-” she glanced over her shoulder. “Here he is.”

Chris walked in wearing jeans and one of the Ares 3 tee shirts Mark had given him, and his blood pressure dropped about ten points almost immediately. 

(“Never seen THAT before.” Slep commented.) 

“All right, I think I’ve got everything straightened out.” He laid some paperwork in front of Mark on a tray table. “This is legally binding for the duration of this visit to the ER. It makes me your medical proxy, and gives me the legal ability to speak for you if you’re unconscious or otherwise unable to communicate your own needs. You don’t need to sign it-” 

Mark glanced around for a pen, Slep handed him one because she was apparently psychic in addition to smart, kind, and hyper-competent, and he signed immediately. 

Chris smiled faintly. “I didn’t want you to have any meds until after you decided on signing, so there would be absolutely no question about your informed consent.” 

“I get it.” Mark told him gently. Chris was a demon about informed consent. (Once Mark figured that out, he’d gotten a little more patient about him going “are you okay?” in bed every five seconds.) Slep sat a white paper cup of pills in front of him with a bottle of water. “What is it?” 

“Ativan and Vicodin.” Chris told him. 

“Like old times.” Mark decided, and threw them back. 

“We’ve got a few more resources, this time around.” Chris pointed out, and Mark gave a rough chuckle. 

“Give it a few minutes for the Ativan to kick in, and Beck can start your IV.” Slep told him. 

“Oh, am I doing that?” Chris asked. 

“Just like old times.” Mark repeated. “You can do it in zero G at what the hell was the temperature, then, about ten Celsius? while I’m dehydrated, you can do it now.” The first twenty-four hours back on the Hermes had been a circus, because they’d had to re-pressurize and get the hub running before they had gravity, all while Chris was trying to treat and evaluate Mark. Major health exams in zero gravity were pretty surreal. He still couldn’t believe Chris managed to draw blood and run an IV. 

“One day I’m going to get these stories out of you.” Slep told Beck. 

“After this, I owe you at least three beers. I’ll tell them.” Mark told her, and Slep gave him a high five. 

“I knew if you two ever met I was doomed.” Chris said, getting up and pulling out sterile pads and putting on some gloves. “Hang your arm down off the side of the gurney.” 

“Why?” Mark said, doing as he was told. 

“Well, here on Earth, we have this thing called gravity? It pulls the blood down into your arm and makes the veins easier to find.” 

“Dude, you could find my veins blindfolded with one hand. Upside down. You practically have.” 

“And now I’ll find them even easier.” Chris rolled over a low stool, sat. “How are you doing?” 

“Better. Meds are kicking in.” 

“Good.” Chris glanced up at the readouts over Mark’s bed. “Yeah, your blood pressure’s already leveling off.” 

“Vicodin for the win.” 

“So you’ll still eat potatoes if I give you crushed up Vicodin to dip them in?” 

“I do that ONCE, and NASA is STILL sending me information on addiction treatment.” 

Slep clapped a hand over her mouth, but they both still heard the burst of laughter, and grinned at her. 

“All right.” Chris said more softly. He ran his hands down Mark’s arm, pushing even more blood down into his lower arm, then put the tourniquet around his upper arm. “The smell of alcohol bothers you?” 

“Yeah. ‘S why I quit drinking booze.” Mark laid his head back and shut his eyes. This always went better if he didn’t watch, even when it was Chris. 

“Forearm or back of the hand?” 

“Forearm.” 

Chris took Mark’s hand and laid it on his knee, and Mark squeezed it once. Then it was a wet swipe over his skin – he had NO IDEA how they kept him from smelling it, but they did – some prodding, then Chris gently said “poking now,” and did. Some more fiddling that bumped the needle around, the tourniquet pulled off, lots of tape, and done. 

“You’re good.” Chris announced, putting his hand gently back on the bed. 

“Yay.” Mark said weakly. He wiped the sweat away from his hairline while Chris set up the IV bags and got them going. Then he went and got some heated blankets to throw over him, because Chris knew IVs made Mark feel cold. He reached out and took Chris’ hand. “Thanks.” 

“Any time.” 

Then someone rolled in with the X-ray machine, and by the time THAT was over, Mark had been given more painkillers, intravenously this time, and was laid out flat, clutching Chris’ hand. Fuck, that hurt. 

–

In the end, they did stuff him in the goddamn MRI. Apparently the potential for degenerative bone conditions combined with significant previous injury meant that no one would believe him when he said it was only some pulled muscles. 

It turned out to be some pulled muscles. Assholes. 

Hours and hours later, Chris gently pulled him out of a cab in front of Mark’s building. He’d had one major flashback IN the MRI, two panic attacks, and Chris had wound up in the MRI room with him, holding his foot, for the second half of the tests. They had to re-run one because he moved during the flashback. Apparently the yelling and his pulse and blood pressure had made things really exciting. All he remembered was being back in the rover day after day. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had that much Valium at one time, before.” He said thoughtfully, leaned against the wall of the elevator, crutch under one arm and Chris under the other. 

“You haven’t. Next time we’ll be dosing you a hell of a lot more BEFORE you go in the MRI.” Chris assured him, grim. 

“Well, bright side, my back feels FINE right now.” Mark stumbled into his apartment; crutches were tricky when you were heavily drugged, even with someone solid and trained on one side. Chris tried to haul him to the bedroom, and Mark stopped him. “No. Gotta call my folks. It’s a miracle this hasn’t been on the news already.” 

“Your eyes are dilated to the point they’re black, and you can’t keep them open.” 

“I know.” Mark winced. “But it’ll be worse if Mom hears on the news.” 

“Sit down, I’ll get things set up.” 

Mark fell asleep, and woke up with a blanket draped over him, his ankle in its bright blue cast propped up on a footstool and about fifty pillows, and his parents staring at him from the entertainment screen. “Hi. I’m fine.” He told them. 

“Yes, you look fine.” His dad said sarcastically. 

“Chris explained everything, but we wanted to tell you we’re proud of you, before he hauls you off to bed.” 

“Huh?” 

Mark’s mom actually laughed, hey, that was good, right? and smiled at… Chris. Hey. “You’re right. I’m glad he’s not in any pain, though. Thank you for letting us see him.” 

“Absolutely.” Chris smiled at them. 

Mark zoned out while they all signed off and Chris shut things down again. “Come on, bed time.” 

“Bed.” Mark agreed. 

Chris somehow got him up and into the bedroom, stripped down, and laid out. 

“Yaaaay, bed.” Mark said into his pillow. “I love you, bed.” 

“I’ll be out on the couch if you need me.” Chris told him, pulling the blanket up. 

Mark tried to grab his hand and missed. “Are you going to sleep out there?” 

“Yes. If you call, I’ll-” 

“Are you out of your mind? Get the hell in here. I’m busted up. I need cuddles.” 

“You’re hurt, I could bump you, or-” 

“Or you could cuddle me, and it would be really nice. Come onnnn, Chris. You’re a cuddlebug! Get in here.” 

“You really are looped right now, aren’t you?” Chris laughed, sitting down to pull off his shoes, then stripping down quickly. 

“So fuckin’ looped. I kinda like it.” 

“Of course you do, Doctor Vicodin Potatoes.” 

Mark rolled onto his side, patted the bed. 

Chris gave up and crawled in with him. With Mark half on top of him, one arm slung over his waist, his face shoved into Chris’ shoulder, it finally felt real. Chris laid his free hand over the scar he’d left on Mark, right under his rib cage, and let himself believe Mark was still okay. He’d survived another death-defying rescue, and he was safe, in bed with Chris, where he belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is, in fact, a real Nurse Slep roaming around out there in the world. The world is much better for it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark slowly set aside his drink and looked up at Chris. That was his Doctor Beck is Scared Shitless face. He’d only seen it once before, but that surgery on the Hermes was memorable. What the fuck now?

Chris could tell the moment Mark woke up, from the familiar sound of pain being muffled. It broke his heart a little. “Hey, hero.” The news was full of Mark Watney’s heroic rescue. 

“Hey, sexy.” Mark said blearily, taking the pills Chris was holding out and washing them down with water. “Please tell me this is not some wussy ‘you’ll get addicted’ bullshit, and they gave me real drugs.” 

“I swore blind to Doctor Cantrell that you hadn’t had any narcotics since you recovered from Mars, and your idea of heavy drinking was more than one beer. She gave you the good stuff.” 

“Hooray. You have a hell of an ER staff down there. I’m glad I got to meet them, even under the circumstances.” Moving gingerly, Mark flopped onto his back. “I hate my body.” 

“I kind of love it.” Chris said gently, running a hand from hip to neck as softly as possible, and leaning in to kiss him. 

“Get it over with.” Mark told him. 

“Get what over with?” 

“The exam. Make yourself feel better.” 

“You are the best boyfriend ever.” Chris kissed him and went to get his medical bag. 

–

Chris took a couple days off work, looked after Mark (who slept a lot), and sat out on the balcony off Mark’s bedroom, thinking. Staring up at the moon as often as not. 

He could either take the SpaceX job and put at risk the romantic relationship he’d waited all his life for, or he could turn down the SpaceX job and probably die slowly of a broken heart, not using the training he worked all his life for. He was an astronaut. Walking away from NASA didn’t change it, and he wasn’t going to change his own basic nature. This year had proven that; he’d spent his entire life training for space. That would never go away. He’d been ready to talk to Mark, take the deal with the devil, get everything he’d ever wanted professionally at the risk of everything he ever wanted personally. Then this accident happened. A lot of things clarified, most of them things he didn’t want to know. 

After almost two years back on Earth, Mark’s health was still fragile, whether he’d ever admit it or not. He’d been taking good to great care of himself, doing everything he was supposed to, but he’d never gained back all the weight or muscle mass he’d lost. Every test they ran, the results were all right, they were within normal levels, but they weren’t GOOD. Guideline on astronaut bone density was, it took three to four times the stay in space, to recover their normal bone density on the ground. But they’d been out for three damn years. And the astronauts studied to get that data had never been subjected to massive malnutrition and starvation during their stay in low gravity. 

In the ER, while Mark was sedated and recovering from his MRI, Chris took an in-depth look at the images. He’d seen his last one, and Mark’s spine was as bad as it ever was. He’d need an expert opinion, but it looked like it was slowly getting worse instead of better. He’d be needing at least one round of lumbar fusion surgery sooner or later, as well as some serious intervention for osteoporosis, and the dickheads at NASA, best qualified to treat him, had already given him PTSD. 

SpaceX had specialists as good as NASA’s, and with Beck himself and Elon fucking Musk leaning on them, they’d treat Mark right. 

All he had to do was sign in blood to get everything he ever wanted. He really didn’t like deals that felt too good to be true. 

– 

A week after the accident, Mark was off narcotics but still taking meds for his back. Chris had been feeding him every three hours like clockwork and it annoyed the hell out of him that he felt better when he got up and ate in the middle of the night. It was a massive pain in the ass. But Chris had his worried face on, and had been spending a lot of time out on the balcony looking up at the night sky. Mark shut up and ate. That was what he was doing, AGAIN, when the buzzer rang for his door. 

“Keep eating,” Chris told him, going to get it. 

“Hey, Beck.” Slep said from the hallway, and pushed past him. “MARK. Oh my god, I got the scrubs. I LOVE THEM!” She stopped her forward motion suddenly. “Can I hug you?” 

Mark stood and held his arms out, and she laughed and stepped into them, giving him a good squeeze. “Do they fit?” He asked. “I talked to Johanssen about what size you’d need, she’s about as big as a minute, too.” 

“They’re perfect. Wonder Woman scrubs! Where did you find them?” 

“I had my mom make them.” She’d gotten pretty good at it, turning out scrubs for Chris. You couldn’t buy scrubs covered in little solar systems, or constellations, or rocket ships, just anywhere. 

“AW!” Slep hugged him again. “I’m interrupting your meal. Sorry. Sit down, eat, I’ll get going. I was so excited, I wanted to thank you in person.” 

“Sit down and have some with us.” Chris insisted, getting another plate and some silverware. 

“Yeah, save me from this casserole he made.” Mark told her, knowing she’d laugh and stay. 

She did. “How are you feeling?” She asked him, dishing up a single spoonful of the broccoli and chicken and very daintily inhaling it. 

“Fine. Ankle still hurts like hell, but my back’s doing better, thanks to my personal masseuse.” He jerked his head at Chris. “He’s been keeping me in bed, driving me nuts.” 

“You poor bastard.” Slep told him with a fake-serious voice. “If I had a guy like Beck keeping me in bed, I’d go back to church so I could properly give thanks.” 

Mark burst out laughing. 

Chris covered his face with his hands and said through them “I knew you two should never meet.” 

– 

After Slep left in another round of hugs and a kiss for Mark, Chris turned to where Mark sat on the couch with his foot propped up. “You said your ankle still hurts. How much?” 

Mark slowly set aside his drink and looked up at Chris. That was his Doctor Beck is Scared Shitless face. He’d only seen it once before, but that surgery on the Hermes was memorable. What the fuck now? “Like hell?” 

“Pain scale.” Chris ordered, pacing. 

“Fuck, I don’t know, you know I can’t give real numbers any more.” He’d spent too much time ignoring pain on Mars to come close to an accurate assessment. Close as he could get was his three step ‘ignore it’, ‘take something’, and ‘give me Vicodin or give me death’. 

“In comparison to other broken bones you’ve had, one week out.” 

That he could- oh. Shit. When he looked at it that way… “Um. A lot worse than usual? Like it’s still freshly broken.” 

Chris immediately crouched down by Mark’s leg and pulled his sweat pants up. He laid his hands around his leg right above where the cast stopped, shut his eyes. Poked around behind Mark’s knee for a little bit, pressing and prodding. Then he went and got his bag, got out some gizmo, and… took the surface temperature of all his toes, on both feet. What even.

“Worst case scenario.” Mark demanded. Doctor Beck clearly had something specific in mind he was looking for; in all his years of invasive medical everything at NASA, no one had ever checked the temperature of his damn TOES. 

Chris looked up at him, then sat on the couch next to him, took his hand, and pressed it to his cheek. “Could be a couple things.” 

“Worst.” 

“Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. Sympathetic nervous system malfunction, goes into a pain feedback loop.” 

“Treatment?” 

“At this stage? Nerve blocks, lots of other painkillers, and PT out the woz. Should go away again. Catching it fast is vital, and a week in is earlier than usual.” 

“If it doesn’t go away?” 

“Constant pain like you’re feeling now, for the rest of your life. Worsening over time.” 

That sounded really fucking horrible. All right. “Most likely scenario?” 

“You know I can’t-” 

“You’re willing to speculate when it’s the worst case. Give me the most likely.” 

Chris kissed his hand, and dammit. Mark leaned into him. “Most likely is the usual osteoporosis issues astronauts get, combined with your nutrition problems. The bone’s not healing because it can’t get enough calcium and other nutrients to do so.” 

“Treatment?” 

“Lots of IV nutrient treatments and some bone density drugs. Could heal right up after that.” 

“But it’s something that’s going to need significant, active treatment.” 

“Probably. I mean, it could be an unhappy nerve you hit wrong and will clear up on its own, but since when are we ever that lucky?” 

Mark had to laugh at that. “We need astronaut doctors.” 

“Yeah.” 

They both sat for a while, holding hands. 

“I love you.” Mark had to say. 

“Oh god, I love you too.” Chris told him, and leaned over to kiss him. 

“Deal with the devil, or back to NASA and hell itself?” Mark asked him. 

“Your health, your choice. But if you want my opinion, I say we go to SpaceX. Elon might do a hard sell while we’re there, but he’d never refuse you treatment as a bargaining chip.” 

Mark had been hoping for that answer, and felt a lot of the stress seep back out of him. “SpaceX it is.” 

“I’ll take care of it. Lay down.” Chris bustled around a little, putting a blanket over him, then returning with a pill and water. “Here. You can have narcotics again until we get this sorted. It might help, and can’t make things worse.” 

“Yay.” Mark took it, and Chris tucked him in and kissed him again. He drowsed, feeling the med start to work and the gnawing pain in his ankle begin to back off, and listened to Chris pace the kitchen. 

“Hello- Oh. Mr Musk, I apologize for calling so late. I hadn’t realized this was your personal number.” A pause. “We’re still thinking about it, and would like to talk to you about it some more. But right now, I’m afraid we need some help.” 

Mark let himself smile at the ‘we’ as he fell asleep. Chris was always so goddamn diplomatic. 

–

I-insist-you-call-me-Elon sent his private jet for them. Because of course he did. 

“This is not the kind of hard sell I was thinking of.” Chris said, looking around the luxurious interior of the plane. 

“Really? Because this is exactly what I expected.” Mark accepted a couple pillows from the flight attendant (three flight attendants, to take care of the two of them, for an hour-long flight) and propped his foot up. 

They were going back to Houston. SpaceX had one of their main research facilities there, serving their launch facility in Brownsville and working in cooperation with NASA on major projects. Depending on the reception they got, Chris and Mark were planning to make it their home base; they knew the town well from their years at NASA, and Martinez and Johanssen still lived there, training for Ares V. Martinez had even offered them his guest room, but they’d explained with all the medical issues Mark was having, they didn’t want to keep his family up all night, running around for food and crashing around on crutches to the bathroom. Elon was putting them up in a SpaceX condo, halfway between NASA and the SpaceX campus. 

Mark crutched his way off the plane, Chris following along with their bags, and there in front of him was part of his crew with broad smiles and happy faces. Johanssen was holding a ‘WELCOME HOME’ sign with a drawing of the Hermes at the bottom, and Martinez was standing behind- “God damn it, Chris.” 

“You do not need to drag yourself through the entire damn airport on crutches. This place is the size of a city.” 

Martinez abandoned the wheelchair to run over with Johanssen and hug them both. All four were teary before they got Mark settled in his chair, piled some luggage on him, and took off for the parking garage, Martinez wheeling Mark along. 

“I’m so glad you’re both here! I know we talk and e-mail all the time but it’s not the same.” Johanssen was still smiling like her face would break. 

“We missed you too.” Mark told her. 

“You look better than the last time we saw you, even with the busted ankle.” Martinez said helpfully. 

“I’ve got Chris following me around, nagging me to eat. He wakes me up to eat. It’s making me crazy.” 

“Nice job, buddy.” Martinez told Chris, who grinned. 

“Hey. You’re supposed to have my back.” Mark complained. 

“I do. I’m helping you keep the best thing that ever happened to you.” Martinez told him. 

“Fair enough.” Mark admitted, and tried to find a way to sit that didn’t hurt. 

–

They got dropped off at the condo, and Martinez and Johanssen were a lot more tactful than usual and left them alone. Chris immediately fixed a small meal from the groceries that had been laid in, and took it out to where Mark sat on the back porch. He’d changed into cargo shorts and a tee shirt, put on sunglasses, and sprawled out on the chaise, he looked like he was on a vacation instead of having a health crisis. Chris sat the plate on the table next to him, put the protein drink down next to it. 

“Come on, man. Can’t I skip one damn meal, take a nap?” 

Even in the shade, the heat was overpowering, but Mark had mentioned on more than one occasion that heat made all his joints and muscles feel better. Boston had been cooling off, moving toward winter, but Houston was an almost endless summer. “Eat, then take a nap.” He ran his fingers through Mark’s hair. 

“Mm, feels good.” 

“When was your last painkiller?” 

“On the plane. I didn’t want to be out of it to meet the crew, and check out where we’d be staying.” 

“You want one?” 

“Can I ask for sex later, give consent to it, then take half of one and a muscle relaxant?” 

Chris hoped this meant Mark was in less pain, but given Chris’ views on consent, it could be that he was holding out. “Probably. What do you want?” 

“You could ride me again. That was pretty awesome.” 

Well, he was undrugged and saying yes. Chris was doubtful Mark would stay awake long enough if medicated and flat on a bed, but if he managed it, “If you want.” 

“You think I’ll fall asleep later.” Mark grabbed one of the orange slices, ate. 

“Yeah.” 

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” He asked around a mouthful of food. 

Chris really didn’t want to discuss it now, because he didn’t want Mark to get upset and not eat. But he’d asked. “I’ve been talking to the specialists. They got your medical records two days ago, and we’ve been going over them together.” 

“And?” 

And the records were incomplete and NASA was giving them excuses. But it was enough to put together some theories. “They want to do some more MRIs.” He laid his hand on Mark’s arm. “If you’re willing to sign another medical proxy for me, we could do a heavy sedation and I’d stay with you the whole time.” Mark had always refused heavy sedation, but Chris was hoping, if he was there, Mark would go for it. Especially after their last experience.

“I’ll think about it.” 

That was the best he was going to get. “Otherwise, it’ll be the usual pint of blood for tests that you’re used to, X-rays, and a full workup.” 

“You know, being an astronaut was supposed to be an exciting adrenaline rush. They never put in the recruiting information how much time we spend peeing into cups. I should start doing a vlog again. Tell people the ugly truth.” 

Chris laughed. Mark would be all right. 

–

Security gave them employee lanyards instead of visitor passes. “Sneaky old bastard, isn’t he?” Mark commented. Several people around them choked. Chris rolled his eyes. Mark was currently wearing his ‘Fuck Mars’ tee shirt. How were they shocked by anything he said? Chris would never understand that reaction. 

The medical floor he’d be doing hard time on was a nice surprise. Instead of cold, sterile surfaces like NASA loved to use, there was wood flooring, actual color on the walls, and an indoor garden for patient use. No one was wearing hospital gowns; everyone wore scrubs. The doctors wore lab coats over the scrubs. Mark idly wondered what the floor had looked like last week. He wouldn’t put it past Elon Musk to remodel the whole damn thing after Chris’ phone call. 

The doctors started off easy with X-rays of his ankle and all the lab work, then put him in a cheerful private room with a wall of windows looking out onto the main quad of the campus, a mini kitchen, and an assortment of comfortable furniture other than the bed. There were some dark blue scrubs laid out for him. 

“You can wear those, or I brought these for you. Your mom and I cooked up the idea together.” He held out a different set, these with black pants and a shirt covered in little green men. 

Mark laughed, and started to take the Martian scrubs. “I’ll put them in the bathroom for you.” Chris told him. 

He followed along on his crutches. “I could have done it.” 

“Both crutches, please?” Chris asked, continuing the argument they’d been having since Chris had found him half-hopping around his apartment on one crutch on day three of his broken ankle. 

“Oh, fine.” Mark waited until Chris set them down on the counter in the spa-like bathroom, then went in. 

“You want help in here?” 

Mark fought back the urge to snap that he could change his own damn clothes. “I’ll be fine.” 

Chris was sitting in an easy chair, looking out the window, when he returned. 

The whole place felt more like a high end hotel than a hospital, which was helping things immensely. He was in the astronaut rehab wing, so this was probably where their people stayed after trips to the space station, getting their earth legs back. 

“You okay?” Mark asked. He knew Chris was stuck in an afraid-to-hope mindset; once you lose everything (or almost everything), it’s really scary to be offered it back. 

“It’s a nice facility, and the staff is first class. You?” 

“I’ve only had one Ativan.” That was to get him in the door; now he felt pretty steady. 

Chris gave a snort and a chuckle. 

An enormous guy with arms like tree trunks a bright white smile in his red-brown face turned up, wheeling, hooray, an IV stand. “Oh goodie.” Mark said. 

“Yeah, everybody loves these.” The guy said. “I’m Ortega, assigned as your nurse? You can request someone else, though, my size can be intimidating. Say the word.” 

Of all the shit that set him off, that didn’t bother him. “Nah, you’re fine.” 

“Preliminary data’s starting to come in on your blood work, the docs are starting to decide on therapies for you. By the time we get you set up, they’ll have decided on at least the basics, we’ll start you on those.” He turned to Chris. “Doctor Beck, they want to discuss it with you, they’ll be down soon.” He turned back to Mark. “Would you rather they discuss your treatment in here, or somewhere else?” 

“Here.” He wanted to know what the fuck was going on. At the least, he could tell a lot by Chris’ face and body language if he couldn’t follow the chemistry. 

“I’ll let them know. You prefer having your IVs started by Doctor Beck?” 

Mark swallowed and nodded. 

“We can do that, but you know the legal deal. I need to hang out, make sure it’s all done properly. Not that I expect any less.” 

“Yeah, I’m getting used to that.” Mark said, trying to sound chill. Fuck, he hated this. 

“Chair or bed?” Chris asked, and oh, hey. No one was going to make him sit in a bed? That was new. 

“Chair. Absolutely.” He thumped over on his crutches and carefully sat in the orthopedic one; the back was at a slant to reduce pressure on his lumbar spine. “Oh man. I wanna have babies with this chair.” 

“Only if you do artificial insemination.” Chris said absently. They both froze for a second when Ortega snorted a laugh. “Gloves, sterile pads, IV packs?” he asked. 

Ortega slid back part of a wall and oh hey, look at that. Fully functioning hospital room. Mark did calming yoga exercises. 

Chris got what he needed, wheeled over a stool, laid out what he’d be using on a nearby table. 

Mark did more exercises. 

“You’re doing fine, we’ve done this a thousand times.” Chris reminded him softly. “Put your left arm down toward the floor, then just close your eyes and think happy thoughts.” 

“England.” Mark told him. He hadn’t gotten laid the night before. He’d fallen asleep. Fuck all this, hard. 

“Sure.” Chris agreed sarcastically. “The British Museum.” 

Tourniquet, pump your fist, rubbing, poking, adhesive everywhere. Mark did something he almost never did, and reminded himself how happy he’d have been, to have this, on any day whatsoever that he was stuck on Mars. Normally he refused, REFUSED, to compare his life then to his life now. He liked to think of Mars as an isolated, ha, weirdass time of his life that was OVER. (He was beginning to admit it would never be over.) But once in a while it was good for morale. 

“Done.” Chris told him. 

Mark opened his eyes and happened to look down as Chris stripped off his gloves. 

Chris’ hands were shaking. 

Ortega stepped in smoothly. “First thing we’re gonna run is some saline and that Nobel prize winning nutrient therapy that Doctor Beck and Doctor Vogel developed for you.” 

“Where’d you get that?” Mark asked without thinking. 

“The lab here made it at Doctor Beck’s directions.” 

Mark looked over and Chris gave him a crooked smile. 

“Well, at least we know how I react to those.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Ortega told him, and got it all going. He gave Mark a remote call button with no wires to clip on his shirt, asked Doctor Beck to notify them if there was any trouble, and left them alone. 

“Can you get a blanket for me, then come over here on my good side?” Mark asked softly. 

“Sorry, I forgot your blanket. I’m a little turned around.” 

Was THAT what they were calling it. “It’s all right.” 

Chris tucked him in, then sat on the stool again and wheeled over. When he got there, Mark put an arm around his waist and pulled him in, leaned over, and got as comfortable as possible in an embrace with the arm of a chair between them. 

“Take a breath, baby.” Mark told him. 

Chris gave a hiss of shock; they never used pet names anywhere in public. 

“No, a slow one, like when you’re meditating.” Mark said sarcastically. 

“Funny.” But Chris started doing Mark’s usual breathing exercise. 

“I’m sorry this is so hard for you.” Mark told him, and kissed the top of his head. 

“Jesus, Mark, you’re the one having the health problems.” 

“And it’s occurred to me that it’s bringing up a whole lot of really terrible memories for you. Stuck in a tin can a half a million miles from Earth, with limited supplies, trying to keep me alive?” 

Chris actually shuddered. Shit. 

“Deep breath.” Mark reminded him. “We’re not there. We’re back on Earth, we have confessed our true undying love to each other-” Chris gave a little laugh into his neck, that was good. “We’ve got the unlimited resources of SpaceX, both physical and intellectual, and I do not doubt for one second that if this turns out to be something exotic, Elon Musk himself will personally guilt-trip NASA into helping. On a live news feed, if necessary. He’d enjoy it. I think he’s secretly a super-villain trying to make up for past life mistakes.” 

Chris relaxed into him, gradually, and Mark rubbed his back. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Mark told him softly. “But I know whatever it is, it would suck.” 

“Damn it, don’t make me get teary when I’m supposed to be a badass.” 

“Fair enough.” He’d bring up the topic that might start a fight, then. “How bad is this, really? Are you not telling me something?” 

“No.” Chris leaned back and met his eyes squarely. “I swear, there’s nothing going on that I haven’t mentioned. I mean, I’ve left out details of your micronutrient counts, stuff like that, the discussions I’ve had about them. I’ve recorded the calls, you can listen to me talk to people about different forms of calcium if you want. But as far as I know, we’re still in the figuring out stages and the scenarios I ran for you last week are the ones I still see as most likely.” 

“All right. Can you tell me why you’re so upset then?” Mark said it as gently as possible. 

“Are you shitting me?” Chris asked. 

“Your hands were shaking, Stone Cold Beck.” 

“You’re not my patient any more. You’re my lover and my best friend and the one person on this planet who understands what that return mission was like. The rest of the crew comes close, but they weren’t in Sick Bay while we took turns waking each other up from nightmares. None of them cut you open and rummaged around in your guts. None of them saw the full horror of how bad you were when we pulled you in, they only got my reports and my reports were vague because I was respecting your privac-” 

Mark leaned forward and kissed him. A soft brush of lips, then he pressed another to the cheekbone over his beard, and another at his temple. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“And you’re exactly that to me, too.” 

Chris blew out a breath. “Good.” 

Someone knocked on the door. Chris tried to jump back, but Mark hung on for a second and then let him pull away more slowly. He turned, and yay, three doctors were there, looking absolutely thrilled to be working with Doctor Chris Beck. Mark suspected that if they did sign on the dotted line, these were the people who would turn out to be part of Chris’ research team. 

At least they weren’t looking at him like a lab rat. 

–

Mid-morning, they knocked him out for his MRI. He’d been planning on some kind of sedation, but when the time rolled around, he was already so exhausted from stress and hyper-vigilance and everything else, he told them to lower the boom. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Chris closing his eyes in relief, so maybe he’d keep doing them that way, take it easy on him, if not himself. 

Relationship stuff was hard. 

It was mid-afternoon by the time he was conscious again. “How long was I in the MRI?” 

“About four hours.” 

Good thing he was still drugged, or he’d have an anxiety attack thinking about it. “Note to self, get yourself knocked out from now on.” 

Chris smiled and shook his head, then offered him a bowl of mac and cheese. “I got this for you from the cafeteria. It’s pretty good.” 

“I could eat.” Which was weird, considering all the IV nutrition he’d been getting all day, but whatever. He was still on his gurney for the trips to and fro, so Mark raised the head of the bed and took the bowl and a fork from Chris. “Oh. This IS good.” 

“They have a chef.” Chris said with his little lip-quirk. 

“Of course they do.” 

“I think commercial space exploration is going to be a whole other world.” 

That sounded positive. “Yeah, I’m getting that feeling, too.” 

–

They didn’t get home until very late at night, having spent the day running tests, talking about the tests, or running more tests to investigate the results from the other tests. A whole lot of things had been ruled out, and they still had some results they were waiting on, but it was looking like Chris had been right – it was a combination of the usual astronaut osteoporosis and Mark’s own unique nutritional disaster. “How come it’s so fucking exhausting to sit around all day?” Mark asked blearily, stripping off his clothes. 

“Emotional labor.” Chris said without thinking, taking off his own clothes. “It’s a bitch.” 

Mark looked up sharply, but Chris didn’t seem aware of what he’d admitted in that statement. “Want a shower?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good...” Chris said idly, staring out the window, clearly too exhausted to move. 

“Want a shower with me?” Mark asked more softly. He had a different cast on now, that should make it much easier. They’d never showered together, because both their apartments had the tiniest bathrooms possible and Chris was a fussbudget who worried about Mark falling down and busting his head open. 

“Please.” 

They got themselves into the palatial bathroom with its roll-in shower big enough for a party, started the water so the enormous space would warm up a little, and Mark pulled Chris in for a soft kiss that turned into a lot of nipping and licking. 

“What was the deal today with the liver test results?” Mark asked, stroking a hand up and down Chris’ back. He looked over Chris’ shoulder at it, in the mirror; an acre of smooth skin over perfect musculature. It was very sexy. Particularly the dimples in his lower back. He brushed his fingers over one. 

“Caught that, did you?” Chris kissed the point of Mark’s shoulder, over his number tattoo. 

“You’ve got one hell of a poker face. No one else noticed you just about passed out. They said it was fine, though?” 

“It is. Even a little better than fine.” Chris leaned into Mark, wrapped his arms around him. “The liver is how your body metabolizes drugs. If it doesn’t work, drugs don’t work. Calling it a whole other level of problems is an understatement. I was pretty sure, since the meds you were taking were working, that it was all right. But getting confirmation was… really good.” 

Getting confirmation had looked like it ended a nightmare for him. 

“Come on. Help me into the shower.” Mark was now allowed to walk for very short distances, but it felt like someone was hitting his ankle with a hammer when he took a step. So he let himself hang onto Chris until he leaned up against the wall, water spraying down on him. It was almost as good as rain. He stood there and watched as Chris scrubbed himself down, not wasting any time. “You use shampoo on your beard?” 

“It’s hair, isn’t it?” He asked, and stuck his face into the water. 

“Why’d you grow it, anyway?” He didn’t know what answer he expected, probably something to do with not shaving. 

“The noises you make when I rub stubble over your skin.” 

Oh Jesus. “Seriously?” 

Chris stepped over, smiling, and leaned down, ran his cheek along Mark’s shoulder and up his neck. Mark involuntarily made an ‘mmm’ noise. 

“Love it.” 

Mark pulled him in and kissed him, and it turned into a long make-out session, leaned back comfortably against the wall, with Chris’ arms braced on either side of him. It took about two easy strokes for Chris’ cock to get hard. “Hey there.” 

They were talking softly, their lips so close they moved over each other as they spoke. “I’m not sure you’re safe in here-” 

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I couldn’t get it up right now with a three-stage booster rocket.” Mark grinned with Chris, then stroked him again. Chris closed his eyes and made a soft noise in his throat. “Yeah, that’s it. I love watching you come, and usually you’re busy making me scream and I miss it. You sex ninja.” 

Chris shifted around until he was more comfortably leaning over Mark, kissed his way down the side of his face and neck, and dropped his head onto Mark’s shoulder. 

“No, no. Let me see you.” Mark nudged his face up again, kissed him, all the time working him slowly with his other hand. “You’re always so beautiful, but like this? I can’t take my eyes off you.” 

“So are you.” Chris whispered. He opened his eyes and they were dark and dilated and gentle. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Everything about you. I am so lucky to have you.” He tightened his hand a little, and Chris made another little croon in his throat and began pushing himself into Mark’s hand. “There you are, baby. Let go. Let the whole damn day go, everything. Let me have you.” Chris made a sound an awful lot like a sob and climaxed, closing his eyes but otherwise not moving, where Mark could watch that gorgeous, beloved face finally show some pleasure for the first time in days. “That’s it, thank you.” He gave him a kiss, and another, and slowed, then put both arms around Chris when he relaxed and dropped his head onto Mark’s shoulder again. 

Mark laid a hand over Chris’ head and held him. He was sure some of the water on his shoulder and Chris’ face was tears, but he’d let that go, too, unless Chris wanted to talk about it. 

After a while, Chris carefully nudged Mark further under the water, and made him stand there while Chris washed him down, and shampooed his hair for him. Mark tried to help once or twice but Chris would push his hands away, so Mark put them on Chris’ hips and let him do what he liked. It was slow, and gentle, with lots of kisses and few words. 

They turned the water off, dried each other carefully, and fell into bed. 

–

Chris woke him up at three in the morning and made him eat. Fuck’s sake. 

– 

Chris woke him up AGAIN, at six. “Come on! I need some REM sleep!” 

“We aren’t due at the hospital until later today, so eat this and go back to sleep.” Chris pushed a plate into Mark’s hands and he looked down at it. Peanut butter on whole-grain toast and some fruit. 

“Ugh, fine.” He bit off part of an apple slice. “Where’re you going?” 

“Out for a run, if that’s all right?” 

“Good. Yes. I’ll be fine. I’ll be asleep.” Mark had been worrying about Chris’ lack of exercise; Chris himself said he worked out when he was stressed, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Mark alone long enough to do much, the last week. Mark hoped this was the start of getting back to normal, and a sign Chris was worrying less after the barrage of tests that all came back okay. They had moved through ‘let’s check to see if it’s cancer/organ failure/death’ to ‘let’s see if it’s stuff we already know about’ and were down to – as Mark understood it – testing enzyme levels and body Ph and other nitpicking details to see exactly what he’d metabolize best, and in what order. 

They’d left his IV in when he went home the night before, closed down and sealed off. Which made things a lot less stressful when he got back to his room that day. “Today’s mostly IV therapies and a buncha people talking to Doctor Beck.” Ortega told him. “You can leave on your street clothes, if you want.” 

“I want.” Mark sat in his orthopedic chair, put his arm out, kept his eyes shut while Ortega hooked him up. He smiled faintly when someone covered him with a blanket, and put his feet up on the footstool someone had acquired for him, and let the sound of Chris schooling a bunch of people at the table by the window wash over him. Maybe his stress levels were lower, too. 

– 

They were having drinks and antipasto on the porch in the afternoon, feet up, having a teasing discussion about nothing much, and the doorbell rang. Chris patted Mark’s shoulder to keep him where he was, and went through the condo to open the door. 

Out front was a delivery truck, and in front of him were two delivery guys. “I’m looking for a...” one of them looked at his clipboard, “a Doctor Watney? Or a Doctor Beck.” 

“I’m Beck.” 

“Cool. Delivery. Sign here.” 

Nonplussed, Chris took the clipboard and signed. 

Mark was in the middle of the living room on his crutches when the guys got to the front porch with a giant box. He watched with Chris while the guys on the porch stripped off the packing materials, and- “An orthopedic chair, like at the hospital.” 

“Where you want it?” 

They looked at each other. It seemed like it matched the living room, so Mark pointed to a likely spot, and they brought it in and sat it down. Next was another orthopedic chair that matched the porch furniture, so Chris led them through and let them put it out there. 

The last one went in the bedroom. Then the one guy reclaimed his clipboard and they were both gone. The whole thing had taken maybe twenty minutes. 

“Is this surreal?” Mark asked. “This feels surreal.” 

“This feels like Elon Musk.” Chris told him. 

Mark laughed. 

–

By the end of the first week, they had a solid diagnosis – the bone and nutrition issues, as Chris had guessed. They also had a treatment plan. It came down to a lot of IV treatments, and then after three weeks of those, they’d start him on drugs to increase his bone density. Apparently, without the nutrients in his body, the drugs wouldn’t do anything. 

Plus the doctors were still arguing over which bone density drug was best for his particular issues. 

Then there was what they were calling ‘physical therapy’, which came down to a fitness program, heavy on weight-lifting, that might be worse than the Ares training program, back in the day. “You are shitting me.” He said, looking at the papers where some genius had helpfully laid it all out. 

“I’m really sorry, Doctor Watney, but given your medical history-” 

Mark waved a hand. “No, no, I get it. I’m not mad at you. Just. Fuck.” He flipped some more pages, caught himself. “And call me Mark. You’re going to run me through PT hell, might as well be on a first name basis.” 

“Of course, Doctor Watney.” He rolled his eyes. Ugh. Well, he’d break the guy down eventually.

At least he wasn’t going to have to run. They said it was due to his spine problems, but Mark told himself it was because he told them HE FUCKING HATED RUNNING. 

THEN, Mark finally caught on to what Chris was doing, by smoothly taking over fixing all their meals. It took Sunday dinner at the Martinez house with the whole gang to prod his brain. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice this sooner.” 

“That means it was fine. You were enjoying it, if you didn’t realize-” 

“My ass, you’re feeding me broccoli every other meal!” 

“It’s an ideal source of bio-available calcium and a lot of other minerals!” 

“I can get calcium from ice cream, and iron from steak for fuck’s sake! Both of which I like better than broccoli!” 

“You were eating it!” 

“YOU WERE FEEDING IT TO ME AT THREE AM WHEN I WAS ASLEEP!” 

Martinez, watching them like he was at a tennis match, told his wife, “I can’t believe I ever thought them getting together was weird. Look at this. This is old married stuff, right here. We didn’t do this shit until year, what, three? Four?” 

Marissa giggled. “Be nice, Rick.” 

“I am! I’m being so nice.” 

Mark glared. 

“Buddy, you know I love you, but this?” Martinez waved between Mark and Chris, “This is ADORABLE.” 

“It really is.” Johanssen told them both. 

Ugh. 

–

The moon was full that night, and the skies clear, so they opened the shade on the sky window over the bed, and all the windows to let the light in, and laid in bed together. There wasn’t any urgency to the touching and kissing, enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies, curled together facing each other. They were marveling at having the other there with them, Chris thought. “How are you feeling?” Chris asked gently, running his hand over where Mark’s IV had been all week. “Tell me the truth.” 

“Better. A lot better. I think the pain’s going away in my ankle, too. You know how sometimes you don’t realize how bad you felt until you feel better?” 

Chris nodded, running his fingers through Mark’s chest hair. He wouldn’t mention it to Mark, but it was growing in thicker and curlier. He couldn’t help monitoring every damn sign and symptom of Mark’s body. He’d been doing it too long to stop now. 

“Not to stir up horrible memories, but I think this is the best I’ve felt since Sol Six.” 

Chris stopped for a second, stopped everything. “I didn’t realize you’d been feeling that bad.” 

“Neither did I.” 

“So you’re not, I don’t know, angry or resenting how I’m constantly acting like your doctor instead of your lover, feeding you and nagging and dragging you to Houston?” 

“Hey, no.” Mark cuddled him closer, and slipped one arm under Chris’ head. “That’s not how I’ve seen it at all. I’ve been grateful to have you. Without you I’d be sedated ‘round the clock until they sorted this out, and still having panic attacks. I sure as hell wouldn’t have realized the ankle was a problem this early, and gotten such good care, so fast.” 

“I can’t help it.” Chris whispered into his neck. “I tell myself I’m not your doctor any more, try to step back, turn it off, whatever. But it’s you. I took care of you for so long, still want to take care of you, and oh hey, look at my skill set, and before I know it I’m taking your pulse and arguing with you about what you ate last.” He gave a sad half-laugh. “You’re stuck with Doctor Beck. It’s about the extent of my useful skills. I’d do an EVA for you, if you needed it, but-” 

“You already did that. It’s all right. I’ve been worried I’m asking too much of you. You put your entire life on hold to come down here with me, basically be my personal medical consultant and servant and touchstone and teddy bear. It’s a hell of a lot to ask of one person, and I’m so grateful.”

“I’m grateful. I’m a doctor, Mark. I didn’t realize until the past year how much it was a part of me, but it is. You can’t control what happens to you. But you do control what you do about it, and if you’d tried to deal with this yourself, dismissed my help, it would have broken my heart. Imagine if I had to grow my own food on a hostile planet, and I didn’t want your help.” 

That made Mark stop and really think. “Never thought of it that way.” 

“The fact that you had them bring you to MY ER for treatment when you got hurt was better than a public declaration of devotion, to me. You needed my skills, so you immediately came to me. You’re independent as hell, psychologically you’re built to go it alone, not ask for help. You proved that to the entire world. Especially not allow someone as important as I am to you, see your weaknesses. But you have. It’s humbles me, that you trust me that much.” 

“And then I turn around and yell at you for feeding me broccoli and feel like the world’s biggest asshole.” 

Chris smiled. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I like all the swearing and shouting. It’s when you’re quiet I get scared.” He leaned in, kissed Mark’s neck, right over his pulse point, pressed his lips press there a long moment. Each heart beat against his lips said ‘safe’. “That’s why I was so fucking scared at the beginning of the week. I’d have taken potential organ failure a little less seriously, but there you were, sitting in that chair with your IV, wrapped in a blanket not saying anything.” 

“Aw, baby.” Mark petted his beard and Chris grinned. “I promise I’ll yell at you more.” 

“There we go.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Incidentally, you think this confrontation is bad?” Chris said with a shark-like smile, “If Mark finds out you came here and threatened me, watches this on the home security that is recording every damn word out of your mouth right now, let yourself imagine what HE will do. Remember what he did in the media when he was COOPERATING with NASA. Then ask yourself what it would be like if he didn’t care. Or worse, wanted to damage you.”

Monday brought a detailed, long term plan for treatment. IVs in the mornings, lunch, then PT, massage, and potentially pain management all afternoon. Now that Mark had gotten to know his team, and Chris was still the one actually sticking needles into him and doing anything else invasive, the PTSD lost its teeth and got a lot more manageable. 

“I’m not saying you dump me at the front door and drive away, for crying out loud. I want you to stay in the mornings, oversee the nutrition stuff, and check in with the entire team for me. We could have lunch together, that would be nice, then you could do whatever, visit labs or scare NASA in the afternoons that I’m doing nothing but lifting weights and swimming. Ortega AND my PT guy will both be there for that, babysitting me. I’ll keep my phone on me, we’ll be in constant contact. But you should start meeting people, if we’re thinking about signing on.” 

They’d just walked in the door from the hospital, Chris was pacing the living room, running his hands through his hair; highly agitated, for him. “I know. I KNOW. But I keep thinking about, you know, everything...” 

“About me going bugfuck in the MRI tube in Boston.” Mark supplied helpfully. Denying reality had never been his thing. Took too much effort. Own it and move on. He had PTSD. He’d have another flashback sooner or later. Accepting and planning was more useful than ignoring. 

“Among other things.” Chris said between his teeth. 

“You know beyond doubt that I appreciate the hell out of everything you’ve done for me, right?” Mark had to ask. 

“Of course.” 

“Here’s the thing. I’m still going to need you. If they want to do nerve blocks, or some of the other pain control ideas they have? Even if you don’t do them yourself, it will go a billion times better if you’re there with me.” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Can we respect that I’m already leaning on you, a lot? And because of that, can you please take time for yourself when we have it to spare? We may be setting the tone for the rest of our lives, here. You’ve got more important stuff to do with yours than hold Mark Watney’s hand through endless rounds of health bullshit as your primary purpose in life.” 

That got Chris down on his knees in front of Mark’s chair, holding one of Mark’s hands to his cheek. “You are the most important thing in my life.” 

“I know, baby, and you’re the best, most important thing in mine, but you’ve had more psych training than I have, and you KNOW we need lives of our own.” 

Chris leaned up and kissed him, open mouthed with a lot of soft, growling sounds. “I know. But when you’re having health issues I want to wrap you in a blanket and do nothing but take care of you.” 

“I’ve heard the hushed discussions you’re having with the team when you think I’m asleep.” Chris sort of froze, so Mark kissed him until he melted again. “Long-term regular IV therapy, intense monitoring of my nutrition levels and bone density. For years. I looked up the PICC lines and ports you told them to shut up about, on Saturday.” 

“That was the anxiety attack.” 

“That was the anxiety attack.” Mark agreed. He leaned forward in his seat, ran a hand up under Chris’ tee shirt and stroked his hand up over those abs, the pecs, and then down the back to rest with his thumb in one of those dimples that made him crazy. 

Chris absently pulled his shirt off. “You should have talked to me about it.” 

“I’m going to. I was looking for basic data to have the discussion with.” 

“What if I don’t want a life? What if I want to keep you in my bed?” 

“I’m sure we could work something out.” Mark murmured to him. He put his other hand on the sweet curve of Chris’ ass and leaned in to lick one nipple. 

Out on the porch was the familiar sound of Martinez shrieking, and they lazily pulled apart to look through the front door. 

Martinez stood, one hand clapped over both eyes, the other arm holding a brown grocery bag on one hip. 

“You okay, man?” Mark asked him. Chris, sadly, backed off and grabbed his shirt. Mark figured since he wasn’t getting sex, he might as well see what Martinez wanted, and got up to get the door. 

“I brought you some stuff, but now I think I’m scarred for life.” 

Mark looked over his shoulder, and Chris had disappeared. “If it’s any comfort, I think Chris is embarrassed.” He opened the door. 

“That is not any comfort at all.” Martinez cautiously removed his hand from his eyes, then came inside. 

“I didn’t think same-sex relationships bothered you.” Mark had to ask. Martinez had always been really easygoing on the social end of things. You didn’t get far in NASA’s astronaut program otherwise; they had psych profiles you had to meet. But Martinez was also Catholic. 

Martinez looked hurt. Oops. “It’s not the guy on guy thing, it’s you. It’s like watching two of my brothers mack on each other. It’d be just as freaky if either of you had hooked up with Johanssen.” 

“Aaaah. Family thing.” Mark nodded in understanding. THAT made sense. 

“Yeah.” Martinez said firmly. “Here.” He shoved the bag at Mark. “I was thinking of Beck torturing you with broccoli all day.” 

Mark traded him a crutch for the bag, looked inside. It was full of tubs of high-end all-natural ice cream, and a couple bundles in butchers’ paper. “Are those steaks?” 

“They are.” 

“You are now my favorite.” Mark raised his voice to a shout. “HEAR THAT, CHRIS? Martinez is now my favorite! Because he’s feeding me right.” 

No answer. 

“He’s embarrassed.” Mark told Martinez again. 

“That’s fine. So am I.” 

Honestly. He was surrounded by the most ridiculous people and he loved every one of them. “Bring this into the kitchen for me, so I can put it away.” They traded back, the bag and crutch, and he led the way. 

“You’re looking better. A lot better. Didn’t want to get into the health shit yesterday; Marissa told me it was a social occasion and if I brought it up she’d kill me.” 

Mark opened the fridge, handed Martinez a beer, then started piling the ice cream in the freezer. “I think without her and Helena riding herd on us, we’d be cave men.” 

“Robert, too.” Martinez added, speaking of Lewis’ husband. 

“We need to get them out here.” 

“That’d be awesome.” 

Everything put away, Mark got another beer and had Martinez carry it to the back porch for him. They both sat, put their feet up. They shared a preference not only for weather instead of climate control, but they liked the heat. 

“How’s tricks?” Mark asked him. 

“Same shit, different day. Ramping up for Ares V. Right now it’s mostly the fitness and psych end of it. You know. Since Johanssen and I’ve done it before, and we stayed fit when we got back, it’s a bunch of bullshit for us. Rest of the crew thinks they’re dying. BethyJo and I may be giving them serious grief about it.” 

“I do not miss all that goddamn running.” 

Martinez laughed. “Psych is determined to root out any neuroses we developed during our epic adventure, though, so they’re getting annoying. They keep asking me how I feel about you. Last week I asked one of the shrinks to tell me the magic answer to get them to shut up, so I could give it. Today I was required to talk through the entire mission in a debrief. Again. Heavy on the emotional shit.” 

“Fun times.” At least with never going into space again, he’d never have to do the really invasive psych bullshit. He was facing the fact he’d need a long-term shrink, and he was going to find one he didn’t hate. But that would be far different than ‘So, Doctor Watney, why did you want to dance in the rain after three years in space and on Mars, explain it because I’m a fucking moron.’ 

“It’s better now that you guys are back. Feels more like Houston again.” 

Aw. Mark punched his shoulder. 

“So talk me through it.” Martinez demanded, putting his feet up and getting comfortable, using the crew’s traditional demand for more information. 

“Through what?” 

“You and Beck, dude. We spent five years living in each others’ pockets, counting pre-mission training, and there was nothing there. Then you both move to Boston and one random night you text me ‘oh, by the way, Chris and I are dating’.” 

Mark grinned down into his beer bottle. “There was something there.” 

“Wait, WHAT? Million mile high club? Without any of us catching on?” 

“Good lord, no. It’s adorable how the entire world thinks I was healthy enough to have sex on the way home from Mars. Did you SEE how fucked up I was? No. There was emotional stuff. There.” 

“Since when?” 

Mark wondered exactly how much of Chris’s privacy he should violate. Well, hell, it was Martinez. “You knew Chris was bi, right?” 

“Oh, sure, knew that before we were even chosen for the crew. He was pretty open about it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Let’s say it was interest at first sight, for him. I was claiming to be hetero, though, so he let it go because he’s got morals and ethics and is a good guy.” 

“And you?” 

Mark had been thinking about how to explain this to people since it happened. “Don’t think of it as Mars turning me gay-” 

“I never said that. Make sure Marissa knows, I NEVER SAID THAT. I would like to keep my balls, I want to have another kid. I will not be able to do that if she’s using my dangles to decorate her rear-view mirror.” 

Mark laughed. “No, it’s cool. But there was a LOT of uproar on social media. Mars didn’t turn me anything. Mars… changed my priorities. Not only what I wanted in life overall, but what I wanted in a relationship. What I wanted to invest in one, too.” 

“And you wanted Beck.” 

“I wanted someone who would understand me. All of me, clear through. Accept who I am. And I found that on the way home from Mars.” 

“Oh.” That was the sound of a bulb going on over Martinez’ head, so Mark let him ponder for a while. “Okay. That makes a lot of sense.” 

“It’s the same for him. No one will ever know what Mars was like for me, for which I’m kind of glad. But he comes closest to getting it. He’s the one who saw the results of it. And I’ll never understand how bad that trip home was for him, keeping me alive, but I get closer than anyone else.” 

Martinez nodded. 

“We didn’t start dating until I sent you that text. For real. I took a lot of time getting my head back together when I got home, before I even mentioned it to him.” 

“You talked to the shrinks about it?” 

“A lot.”

“That… makes me feel better.” Martinez admitted. 

“Plus, have you seen him? He’s fucking gorgeous.” 

“Dios mio, do NOT do this.” Martinez begged. 

“I’ll go easy on you, and say this, then: I’ve been getting a lot of concern from idiots, thinking the sex side of things is something I’m getting through, like a fuckin’ chore or something, to keep the emotional side.” When it had been suggested by one of his shrinks, he’d launched into a monologue about how fucking amazing the sex was with Chris, including graphic details. It was the last time he heard it from THAT quarter. Ha. “That is NOT the case. If you don’t believe me, I can give examples of how awesome things are in our bed.” 

“No. NO. That is sort of what I was worried about, this is all I need to know, please do not tell me how Beck is in bed.” 

“He’s a sex ninja.” Mark could barely stop laughing long enough to add, “And I’m his space pirate.” 

Martinez covered his eyes and shrieked again. 

Mark relaxed into his fancy chair. Life was good. 

–

Tuesday, they started on Mark’s new plan to cope with the hospital stay, and Chris went over to NASA after lunch to pin down some of Mark’s old specialists and demand answers for things he had in his medical records. 

Mark stayed it SpaceX, lifted weights, swam, and then had someone try to shove his spine to where it was supposed to be, resulting in muscle relaxants and painkillers. 

“How’d it go?” Mark asked on the ride home, from where he was reclined in the passenger seat. 

“Stonewalled me.” 

“That was stupid of them.” 

Chris gave a grim snarl. “They have no idea. But they will.” 

You’d think NASA would learn not to fuck with Chris, but they never did. Mark wondered if Johanssen was willing to hack security over there, so Mark could watch Chris kicking ass. He would enjoy that. 

–

They had a light meal as soon as they walked in the door, so Chris could get Mark laid down in bed with some hot packs and another round of muscle relaxants. The spinal work was necessary, but really hard on him. Mark, of course, talked Chris into laying down with him for a second, which turned into kissing, which turned into sex, which turned into Mark falling asleep. Which was about perfect. Chris tucked him in and went to prep some healthy snacks for the odd-hour meals in the next couple days. 

Someone began POUNDING on the front door, and Chris dropped everything and ran to open it. He did, with a jerk. And there was Teddy Sanders. “Ever heard of courteously knocking?” He demanded. Not the tactful way to start this off, but he’d been going over Mark’s medical records – what he had of them - in great depth, especially the part of them that were created while he’d been flat on his back with his eyes bandaged over. Now knew EXACTLY why Mark had medical PTSD, and oh look, here was Teddy, a really nice target for his rage. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Beck?” Teddy demanded, loudly, on the front damn porch for all the neighbors to see and hear. 

He opened the door, grabbed Teddy by a handful of the front of his shirt, and literally dragged him inside. He shut the door, and turned. “Mark is asleep right now. If you wake him up, I will cause you pain.” 

“What in hell are you playing at?” Sanders hissed. 

Chris, who’d been under a LOT of stress lately, had the source of much of it right in front of him. “Currently, I’m trying to get Doctor Mark Watney’s full medical records out of NASA for the purpose of KEEPING HIM ALIVE. I’m finding it really odd that I’m being stonewalled, it’s almost like someone over there wants him to die. Is it you?” 

“How dare you.” 

“I’ll dare a lot more. I’ll start asking that question publicly. It’s really strange to me, to everyone involved, actually, at SpaceX AND NASA, that no one will release the medical records of your most famous astronaut to his current medical team. I can only think of two or three reasons for it, and each one is less ethical than the last.” 

“He belongs at NASA.” Teddy said simply, his nose high in the air. 

Yeah, that’s what Chris had figured. “NASA. Who lied to the crew about how Mark was alive for two months and he knew it? Who told us to return home and let him die, and we had to MUTINY to go back and get him? NASA WHO TREATED HIM LIKE A GODDAMN SCIENCE EXPERIMENT INSTEAD OF A HUMAN BEING WHEN HE FINALLY DID GET HOME? WHO HAS BEEN BLOCKING HIS DOCTOR OF CHOICE AND RECORD EVER SINCE?” Whoop, he probably woke Mark up with that one. Well, shit. 

Teddy backed up a cautious step. 

“You have twenty-four hours to produce his records, his tests, his scans, everything you have back to the first time he walked in NASA’s doors, or I’m going to call a press conference and start asking the rest of the world why Mark Watney is being treated this way. AGAIN.” 

“I’d destroy you.” 

Chris leaned in and laughed in his face. “Try it. I’d enjoy the excuse to go after you. We can call it a weapons test, and see who wins.” 

Teddy was trying to play it cool, but Chris saw him physically blanch at the very idea. 

“You’ll never work in aerospace again. I’ll see to it.” Teddy insisted. 

“Know what, Sanders? I currently have Elon Musk putting me up in one of his condos, while he allows me to take the lead on a team of his geniuses to get Mark back into shape. He wants me to sign on with SpaceX and will do essentially anything I ask, to make it happen. He’s loaned us his private jet. I have him on speed dial. He considers me vital to his goal of getting humankind into the stars. He famously does not like you. Then? There is my family. And the fact that I am the tiniest bit world famous.” Chris leaned in, bared his teeth. “I repeat. Try. It. We’ll see who never works in aerospace when it’s all over.” 

Teddy visibly shifted strategies, though he did look properly terrified. “NASA is a government agency. We have rules, and procedures, and-” 

“I know government regulations on medical records better than you do. None of them involve standing around letting the most famous astronaut of all time die because he won’t work for you any more.” 

“That’s not what that is.” 

“Then what is it?” Chris asked, positively dripping sarcasm. 

Teddy pressed his lips together and looked extremely irritated. 

“Incidentally, you think this confrontation is bad?” Chris said with a shark-like smile, “If Mark finds out you came here and threatened me, watches this on the home security that is recording every damn word out of your mouth right now, let yourself imagine what HE will do. Remember what he did in the media when he was COOPERATING with NASA. Then ask yourself what it would be like if he didn’t care. Or worse, wanted to damage you.” 

The blood drained from Teddy’s face. Chris took a great deal of satisfaction in it. 

Chris pulled the thumb drive out of his pants pocket; he’d been carrying it like a talisman since they reached Houston. He held it up in front of Teddy’s face. “This is a copy of a book, written by the Ares Three crew. All of us. It covers the entire story, from our points of view, from launch to landing. ALL of it. Not your sanitized version that’s out in the world right now.” He shoved it into Teddy’s hand. “Read it. Grow a heart or at least morals, stop acting like a martinet, or we publish. Any media outlet on the planet would be thrilled to take that manuscript. Lean on anyone else from the crew in any way? We publish. You’re being blackmailed. As of now. You’re on notice. Blackmailed to act like you have ethics.” 

Teddy gasped in rage and looked at the drive in his hand. 

“Take it. We have at least two dozen copies, on servers and computers and thumb drives all over the world. Johanssen hid them. You’ll never find them all.” 

Teddy turned, opened the door, and began to leave. 

“I will be at NASA tomorrow to pick up all the data, and speak to the head of Mark’s rehabilitation team from when he got back to Earth.” He needed to know what the rehab team had done that they left out of the records, because he knew from the records they were only writing down what they absolutely had to. 

Teddy kept going. That was fine. He was going to read that book tonight and after he got done being afraid and angry, he’d either work with them, or resign, or they’d sink him. Any of those results was fine with him. 

–

Mark woke as soon as the door opened. He still hadn’t lost his hyper-vigilance for that kind of thing, probably never would. Thanks, HAB. There were muted voices for a minute or two, and then Chris shouted. Hearing the content, Mark realized it must be Teddy fuckin’ Sanders out there, being a dick. He decided to stay in bed. He would not contribute anything helpful by going out there and being Pirate King, which was exactly what would happen. 

There was some more shouting, all from Chris, and a door almost-slam. 

The door to the bedroom cracked open, and Chris peered in, checking on him. Mark raised his hand and crooked a finger, and Chris came in and sat down on the bed next to him. Mark laid a hand on his thigh. “You okay?” 

Chris looked confused. “Yeah? I mean I’m angry as hell at that son of a bitch, but yeah, I’m fine.” 

“That’s only the second time I’ve ever heard you shout.” 

Long pause. “What was the other one?” 

“After I crawled out of the landing craft and laid in the grass.” 

“Oh yeah, I was SO angry with you. Worried over you every minute for two years, we finally get you down to the surface, to the help you need, and you crawl off – crawl! and lay in a pile of germs.” 

“It was grass.” 

“It was dirt. And bugs. And I was having a low-level anxiety attack about the open atmosphere we were standing around in, that was full of teeming microbes and pollutants.” 

“Ah.” Mark rubbed his hand over Chris’ leg. “Come to bed?” 

“Let me clean up the kitchen, and I’ll be in. Ten minutes, maybe.” 

“Are you making more three AM snacks?” 

“Would I do such a thing?” Chris said over his shoulder as he left. 

“OF COURSE YOU WOULD!” 

–

The next day followed the plan until mid-afternoon. And Mark would like it known to everyone who was going to have a conniption about this, that HE WAS NOT THE SOURCE OF THE DEVIATION. 

He was in the locker room, taking a shower after some swimming and old-people pool exercises, and Ortega walked in and knocked on the door to the stall, head turned away. “Yeah?” 

“You’re needed downstairs. I brought your street clothes, they’re out here on the bench with your scrubs.” 

Mark had been lolling, not wanting to move more than needing to wash any longer, so he shut things off and started drying his hair. “How urgently am I needed, and why?” 

“It’s not an emergency.” Ortega hastily reassured him. “But. Uh, Doctor Beck just came back from NASA with a broken hand. He’s in emergency.” 

Jesus, Chris. One of them busted up wasn’t enough? 

“Give me a second. Shit, you’re a nurse, you’re MY nurse. Help me out.” He limped out of the shower and had Ortega help him get dressed. “Can you give me directions?” He asked, reaching for his crutches. 

“If you’re willing, I’ve got a wheelchair out in the hall. I’ll wheel you down there myself, ASAP.” 

“Let’s go.” 

–

“I’m fine.” Chris said the instant Mark wheeled in. He was sitting cross-legged on a gurney in his usual tee, jeans, and running shoes, with his left hand propped up and covered in cold packs. 

“Uh huh.” Mark replied. He stood from his wheelchair, grabbed the crutches off the back, and went over to the darkened wall screens. If he was lucky… He turned one on, and yep, there was a hand x-ray with ‘L’ and ‘C. Beck’ on the edge. He wasn’t a doctor, but he knew exactly what he was looking at, with that folded-down metacarpal under his pinkie. 

Chris was trying, unsuccessfully, to look innocent. 

“Who’d you punch?” He asked. He gimped over, ran his fingers through Chris’ hair to smooth it down a little, took his right hand. “At least you had the sense to lead with your left.” 

“How’d you know?” Chris said in surprise. 

Mark had to laugh. “I grew up in blue-collar Chicago. I’ve HAD boxer’s fractures. I know exactly what they look like. And feel like. You need painkillers?” 

“Nah, I had them give me some non-narcotic stuff, took the edge off. Doesn’t hurt too much unless I move it.” 

“That’s what she said.” 

Chris rolled his eyes. 

Mark was intensely aware of major medical fuss going on all around them, a dozen eyes. Who knew how many people were within listening distance. “Who’d you punch, Christopher?” He already knew how – Martinez had given the entire crew boxing lessons to beat the boredom. 

“Bernstein, over at NASA.” 

“Ah.” That was not a discussion they’d be having in anything remotely like public. More loudly, he asked, “So what’s he look like?” 

Chris grinned, eyes hard. “Broken orbital. I think I got his maxilla too, but I’m positive I got his zygomatic arch.” He showed his teeth in what was probably supposed to be a smile. "Let HIM lay around with his eyes bandaged for a while." 

Jesus. 

“That’s my bloodthirsty snoogums.” He patted Chris’ head, then got out of the way of the team of experts who’d come in to set his hand. This was gonna suck. 

– 

“That sucked.” Chris told Mark, shaking, as he dropped into the back of the car Elon Musk had sent for them when he heard what had happened. He’d also sent flowers, and called Chris and told him in no uncertain terms to refer all problems to his lawyer. According to Chris, he’d been laughing when he gave out the contact information. 

“Broken bones do. Never had one before?” 

“Yeah, but it’s been a while. Hands and feet are the worst, ‘cause of all the nerves.” 

Mark put up the privacy window between the front and back seats. “What the FUCK, Chris?” 

He laid his head on Mark’s shoulder. “I went over to NASA again, for the records. You know. Got there, they told me I could have copies of everything but videos of your procedures, those were proprietary or some shit.” 

“All right?” Oh FUCK. 

“I flipped through some of the vids to see if there was anything noteworthy. I watched your liver biopsy.” 

Ah yeah, that had been bad. He’d had an anxiety attack, they’d dosed him with some meds that didn’t work, and kept going. He’d wound up having a full blown flashback with thrashing around, which had resulted in nicking something, which had then led to a couple transfusions and some other stuff. That was when he put an end to all medical procedures. Which led to him not having the best treatment plan – or treatment – while he was in Boston. 

Bernstein had been the doctor in charge of the whole fiasco. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Chris asked. 

“When it happened, I didn’t because you were flat on your back with strict orders to watch your blood pressure. For a long time after that, it was because even thinking of it caused anxiety attacks. Recently, it’s been to keep you from finding him and breaking his face.” 

Chris chuckled. “Worth it.” 

“Damn it, you’re a surgeon. You could have knocked him down and kicked him. You need to take care of your hands.” 

“I’ll take it under advisement. Also, I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

–

They got home to an interesting standoff on their front porch: Police on one side, Martinez and Johanssen on the other. “Break it up.” Mark told them, crawling out of the car. 

Martinez positively bristled, and, oh shit, Johanssen lazily pulled out her phone and took photos of both police officers. No doubt for facial recognition searches later. 

“Knock it off, I mean it. You’re making me be the voice of reason. What in fuck is wrong with you?” Mark pushed through them, unlocked the door, and ushered Martinez and Johanssen inside. “You stay out here.” Mark told the cops. 

“Is this about the incident at NASA?” Chris asked, coming up the walk. 

“Yes. You’re accused of-” 

“My lawyer.” Chris said, handing them the contact information scratched on a slip of paper. “Refer any and all questions to her. Have a nice night.” He ushered Mark inside, then went in and closed the door in their faces. 

“Baby Beck, growing into his badass! I am so proud of you!” Martinez danced up and grabbed Beck, kissed him on both cheeks. “Johanssen got all the security video, that was BEAUTIFUL, man. And aw, look.” He lifted Chris’ left hand carefully. “Your first boxer’s fracture! That’s my boy.” 

Chris rolled his eyes. He’d be more offended, but Martinez talked to his son the same way. 

“You have a lawyer?” Beth asked, pushing Martinez out of the way. 

“Yeah, Elon hooked us up.” Chris explained. 

“Oooo, la ti da, ELON.” Martinez put in. 

Mark sat in his orthopedic chair and wished for five goddamn minutes of quiet. 

Johanssen turned to him. “Can I have your permission to send the video Chris was watching to your lawyer? It’d get him out of any crime short of murder.” 

“How’d you get it? I mean, how’d you know to find it?” Mark asked curiously. 

“Soon as the word hit that Beck had punched out Bernstein,” she turned to Chris, “excellent work and long overdue, by the way, I got into the system and found what Beck was doing when he went off. He was watching a vid. I tracked it down. And here we are.” 

“Yeah, go ahead. Thanks.” Mark said wearily. 

“Holy shit.” Martinez said, looking out the window. “Elon Musk just rolled up in a Tesla roadster.” 

Mark dropped his head back into the pillow on his chair. “Someone get me a beer.” 

–

Mark looked exhausted, Johanssen was in a corner with her phone, and Martinez was completely worthless at the moment, so Chris got the damn door. “Hey, Elon. Come on in.” He stood aside. 

“Thank you, Doctor Beck.” Elon said with an easy smile. “Oh. Hello.” He added when he saw they had company. “Major Martinez, Ms Johanssen. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” 

“Likewise.” Martinez said with a grin, shaking his hand. 

Johanssen waved from the corner, hunched over her phone. 

“Unfortunately I’m on my way to another appointment, but I wanted to stop and see if you were all right, Doctor Beck.” 

“I’m fine. Thanks for the lawyer. And the flowers.” 

Martinez cackled. 

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do, about this or any other issues you’re having.” 

“Your staff’s been fantastic.” Mark said from his chair. “Facility’s great too. Thanks for the save.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” He shook hands all around, made his leave, and paused in the door. “I’d never be glad for someone else’s ill health, but having you both at SpaceX has been more fun than I’ve had there since we developed the Falcon Nine. I dearly hope you’ll both sign on with us.” He grinned at Martinez and Johanssen. “If you ever get bored over at NASA, the door’s open.” Then he went off down the walk and hopped into his car. 

“Holy shit. HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS.” Martinez said. 

“Always nice to have a fallback.” Johanssen mused. 

“Please, you could set yourself up as Space Nerd Queen if you ever left NASA, without anyone’s help.” Mark pointed out. 

“Yeah, but it’d be fun to do it with his resources.” 

“Didn’t the Falcon Nine project explode?” Chris asked thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, like ten times? Not counting other failures. It’s still famous. Craziest aerospace development project of all time.” Martinez told them. “Mostly because he made it work.” 

“And we’re more fun.” Mark said. 

“Well of course you are!” Martinez assured them both. 

“Come on, let’s leave these guys to their painkillers and cuddling.” Johanssen grabbed Martinez’ arm and pulled him toward the door. “We just wanted to check in.” She added toward Mark and Chris. 

“Wait, wait! Play the security footage for Mark!” Martinez insisted. 

“Do you mind?” Johanssen asked Mark and Chris. 

“I’d like to see it.” Mark told her. 

“I’m doomed.” Chris said to no one in particular. 

Johanssen had her phone talking to the entertainment screen in seconds, then security video of a random white hallway at NASA clicked on. There were two men in lab coats standing there, talking. Then from behind they watched Chris run down the hall, leap, and bring his fist down into Bernstein’s face as he landed. Blood flew everywhere and Bernstein went down like a sack of bricks. Chris leaned down, grabbed the front of his shirt with his right hand, and shook him. Then he dropped him again, and Bernstein’s head bounced off the tile floor. Chris then spit on him, turned, and stalked off camera. 

Everyone else in the hallway was frozen, speechless. 

“That move would be so fuckin’ illegal in a boxing ring.” Martinez said dreamily. “I’m so glad I taught it to you.” 

“Yeah, you taught it to me in forty percent gravity, and I was hitting like I was still in low G when I did it. So now I’ve got an assault on my record. And a broken hand.” 

“Trust, buddy, the only thing that’s going to happen from this is Bernstein disappearing from town in the middle of the night.” Martinez told them both. 

Johanssen smiled a little. “I’ve started going through other records of procedures he’s done, and am anonymously relaying them to the feds.” 

“I’m so glad you like me.” Mark told her. 

She laughed, leaned down, and kissed his cheek. “I’m really glad you’re feeling better.” Then she hauled Martinez out, who was still singing praises to Chris’ ability to fight dirty. 

Silence fell. Finally. 

He looked at Mark. 

Mark looked back at him. 

More silence. 

“I am inappropriately turned on by that video.” Mark finally said, and Chris burst out laughing. 

–

The rest of the week was, thankfully, quiet. Mark got a sense of muted amusement from pretty much everyone at SpaceX and Chris seemed a little shame-faced but not a whole lot. About a dozen people who’d had dealings with Bernstein came by Mark’s room in the mornings to quietly shake Chris’ hand, and Chris’ reputation, which had already been high, took on mythical qualities. 

“You know, I’d have gone after him no matter who the patient was. That was inexcusable.” Chris confessed at one point. 

Mark patted his cast. “I know.” But he still didn’t think Chris would have been so angry he broke two bones in the guy’s face, for a stranger. 

“This is all Martinez’ fault.” Chris had decided that if Martinez hadn’t taught him to fight, it wouldn’t have happened. 

Mark didn’t believe it for a second. “Sure, baby, you keep telling yourself that.” 

There had been a phone call from Chris’ sister Amy, to give him hell not about punching someone, but for not taking better care of his hands, which made Mark feel vindicated. Chris tactfully disappeared into another room to tell her what had set him off, and by the time he returned, Amy was saying “you should have hit him twice, or at least kicked him while he was down.” 

Bernstein disappeared from Houston in the middle of the night. According to internal memos in the FBI that Mark NEVER wanted to know the source of (Johanssen), his license had already been pulled, he was under investigation, and NASA was catching holy hell for keeping him on staff as long as they did. 

Which meant Chris was feeling better about his departure from NASA and his potential working relationship with them in the future. 

Mark waited until Friday night, when they had nothing but a quick IV treatment scheduled the next afternoon, the closest they’d have to free time for a while. And he finally brought up the subject that needed talked about. 

“How are you doing?” Mark asked. He had Chris leaned back against him in the chaise on the back porch. The sun was setting, they had snacks and drinks and no plan to go anywhere for about twenty hours. 

Chris seemed to actually think about it. “Good? You’re doing really well, and the lawyer said NASA is currently trying to forget the entire thing happened, and they have enough pull in this town to make the police forget about it, too.” 

“Badass.” 

Chris shook his head, laid it back along Mark’s shoulder and neck. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“Being a surgeon takes ruthlessness. This was more of the same.” 

“Maybe.”

They watched the sun set. 

“Can I ask you something important?” Mark asked, and immediately regretted starting it off that way when Chris stiffened and sat up again. 

“Sure.” Chris was talking to the sunset, not him, that was fantastic. 

“What is it about this SpaceX deal that’s still making you hesitate?” He reached out to rub Chris’ back, since it was there and he was upset. 

Chris was gathering his thoughts, so Mark waited. “Did you ever get offered something and it seemed too good to be true? So good, you kind immediately began worrying over it?” 

“Yeah.” 

Chris turned to him, a shadow in the lowering light, impossible to read. “What do you want? Purely selfish, forget what’s best for anyone or anything else, what do you want?” 

“I want to sign on as a consultant, build farms in orbit, and run my nonprofit in my spare time. Hound the world’s governments over sustainable agriculture while building the next quantum leap in farming. Properly. If I oversee it, we won’t cut corners like agriculture’s done for the last two hundred years. We get hydroponics perfected in orbit, we can use the same technology here on the ground to feed millions.” There, he said it. 

“What do you think would be best for me?” 

“That’s not my choice to make, that’s for you-” 

“Mark. You have opinions on everything. Good ones. You know me better than anyone else in the world, and I’m not rational on this subject right now. What do you think would be best for me?” 

“You realize anything I say will be biased by what I want.” 

“Yeah, but I’m still interested in hearing it.” 

Well. Okay then. “I think you should sign. Full time, career. I pay attention to the news, Christopher. I know that the stuff you and Vogel cooked up for me is already saving lives. How many other things could you develop, with the funding Musk can provide? Will provide, happily? Develop the world’s first off-planet EMS. Perfect surgery in space. Use the lessons learned there to revolutionize medicine here on the ground. You could do all that. You’re the most gifted person I’ve ever met, and I was at NASA for years, I know gifted when I see it. You should have the environment and funding that SpaceX would offer you.” 

Chris stared down at his hands. 

Mark didn’t know what else to say, so he rubbed his back some more. 

“What about personally?” Chris asked softly. 

Time to grab his courage in both hands. He survived Mars, he could say some nice things, right? “Dreams? For us to get a big house, a little outside Houston going toward Brownsville, for convenience. Something with enough rooms for our parents to visit when they want, maybe an efficiency apartment to put up whoever we know coming through town. A big yard, so I can grow things. Maybe a dog. Go to work and change the world, come home and be together.” 

“That sounds incredible.” Chris said wistfully. 

“Nothing stopping you from saying yes, baby.” Mark reminded him, and pulled him back. 

Chris crawled up the lounger and cuddled up, so Mark grabbed a blanket to throw over him. “Are you really okay with me going to space?” He finally asked. 

HA. Mark KNEW that’s what all the hesitation was about. “I won’t lie to you. I’m not thrilled. But I think you have so much to offer the world, and you’d love it so much, I want you to go. WITH your doctors’ permission. I want the same specialists who’ve been working on me to look me in the eye and say you’re safe to go.” 

“You’d really be okay with it.” 

Courage. “Right now you’re miserable, trying to resist it. Compared to that? Yes. I want you to do whatever you want. Which is a bunch of EVAs for fun. I know you. I know you’ll talk your way back outside.” Chris wrapped his arms around Mark and hung on tight. Mark stroked his hair. “Think about it, all right? Try to believe what I’m saying.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“No. You’ve told me and told me and I can’t believe it. I think it’s because you’re saying exactly what I want to hear.” 

“Try and think of how you’d handle this if our positions were reversed. Would you refuse me going back into space? Especially if it was the space station, not Venus or something?” 

“...no.” Chris seemed taken aback, really thought about that. “No, but this is a little-” 

Chris’ phone rang. 

“Goddamn it.” He grumbled, and crawled over Mark to the table where his phone was. 

Mark indulged himself by running his hand over Chris’ ass. It was a fine ass. 

“Oh, this ought to be good.” Chris muttered to the screen of his phone, and then answered. “Hello?” 

That was the greeting he used for family. Everyone else got ‘Beck’. Mark stopped with the butt-patting and waited. He hoped there wasn’t an emergency – neither of their parents were getting any younger. 

“Tomorrow.” Chris said, skepticism in his tone. “Official business.” Pause. “Uh huh.” Long, long pause. “No. Mark has treatments tomorrow. Hold on.” He muted the phone and turned to him and Mark had an odd deja vu moment with the first time Musk called. “Royce Beck, senior senator from Connecticut, is here on behalf of Congress and the President and wants to speak to us.” 

“Your uncle.” 

“When he’s not pissing me off.” 

That didn’t sound good. “What’s he want?” 

“He won’t say, but suggested dinner at Kata Robata tomorrow night.” 

“I didn’t bring a suit.” Mark said automatically. 

“What a coincidence. Neither did I.” Chris said dryly. “I know Royce. He won’t leave us alone when he thinks the good of the nation or him pulling a political coup is in the balance. We could order in from The Gringo and let him talk to us here. Bonus, if he annoys us, we have the option of throwing him out.” 

He was living with a guy whose uncle the senator wanted to talk to them. “Yeah, sure, that’ll be fine.” What was the worst that could happen? HAHAHA. 

Chris held the phone to his ear again. “Come by our place at seven. Do you have the address? Yeah, I thought you might. All right. See you then.” He hung up. 

“Our lives are weird.” Mark announced. “When did our lives get so fuckin’ weird?” 

“I want to say when we left Earth, because that’s the obvious answer, but honestly? I think it was earlier than that.” 

“Me too.” 

–

Senator Royce Beck looked exactly like Chris, plus thirty years. Same build, same features, with wrinkles and a lot of silver hair. It was really disconcerting, because Mark didn’t like him. He was smarmy, and nakedly ambitious, and thought much too highly of himself. For all that the Beck clan’s defining feature was over-achievement, from the rest of them you got the sense that one reason for it was that they genuinely wanted to help people. This guy, though. This guy was about consolidating power. 

Maybe he really WAS the black sheep of the family, and that hadn’t been a joke. Hmm. 

Mark let Chris handle the welcome and drinks and all that shit. He’d been given something that day that made him tired and achy, and besides, Chris knew how to manage the guy better anyway. Lifetime of holidays and family history, Mark couldn’t come close to picking up on the subtle shit. Not that subtleties were ever his strong suit. 

Finally, though, the guy got to the point. “Congress and the president would like to know what it would take to get you both back to NASA.” 

Ah. More of the ‘NASA’s most famous (and in Chris’ case, most fucking brilliant ever) astronauts want to sign on with SpaceX, we’re embarrassed’ bullshit. 

Mark was close to publishing that book for spite at this stage. Or at least giving a couple-ten REALLY damaging interviews. 

“Nothing.” Mark said shortly, taking the rest of the guacamole. Chris didn’t like it, and fuck this guy. 

“You’d be willing to go back?” The Senator asked. 

Mark couldn’t tell if the guy was deliberately misunderstanding, or completely oblivious. “No. Nothing would make me go back. If a comet comes and NASA is my only way off this rock, I’ll stay and die.” 

Ringing silence. Chris was trying not to laugh; Mark knew that face better than his own, and the laugh lines were visible around Chris’ eyes. 

“Surely there has to be something.” 

This guy. Mark stared him down for a minute, decided it was power. The guy had been in the halls of power so long, he didn’t realize there were some things he could never have. 

Well, he was good at being a statistical outlier by now. In fact, being honest with himself, he enjoyed it. 

“There has been some discussion in the last week,” the Senator allowed, “about a full investigation into the Ares Three debacle, to see what went wrong, and how it can be avoided in the future.” 

Mark’s eyes snapped to Chris’, and they stared at each other, and Mark knew he was thinking the same thing: about everyone at NASA and JPL who’d bent the rules (or outright broke them) to get him back, who’d have their lives ruined sooner than the deserving people’s. Mitch, and Purnell, and a dozen others, low enough on the food chain to make handy scapegoats. While Teddy Sanders and Annie Montrose and the other executives got off scot free, as always. 

He didn’t appreciate anyone referring to what was a brilliant rescue by five courageous and driven people as a ‘debacle’, either, thanks asshole senator from Connecticut. 

“There doesn’t need to be an investigation.” Chris said easily. “Space exploration usually goes smoothly enough that everyone forgets how risky it really is. Something like the Ares Three mission was bound to happen, sooner or later. I’m honestly surprised the first two missions went as well as they did, in retrospect.” 

Now that Martian weather was being taken a helluva lot more seriously, it had been found that the first two missions had landed in areas that were naturally more calm, while Ares Three had landed in the equivalent of Miami in the middle of hurricane season. They’d been doomed from the start, due to variables no one had been aware of at the time. It might not have gone wrong on Sol Six, but spending a month there, eventually one of those storms would have hit, and they’d have scrubbed the mission. 

“Unless you can control Martian weather, there was no way to fix the Ares Three mission.” Except for, you know, telling the goddamn crew what was going on and letting them mount a rescue without having to mutiny first. 

“Surely someone-” 

They would find SOMEONE to blame. Probably some poor data-cruncher in Telemetry, or one of the Mars astronomers. Mark had actually spoken to them, after, and none of them had been operating with enough information to figure out what was going to happen. They didn’t even gather the data needed to understand it until after Mark had been rescued, while they were trying to figure out exactly what in fuck had happened. You could hardly blame someone for doing the best they could with the data they had. 

Well. Congress would be thrilled to blame them. But he wouldn’t. 

“No investigation will fix any of it. It’s over and done, and everyone has learned everything they could from it.” Mark told him. “Mistakes were made, but they were made in good faith. Good decisions were made, based on incomplete information. Going in now with the idea of punishing people will only make it worse the next time something goes wrong.” 

“You think something will go wrong again?” The senator demanded. 

Mark let himself stare at the guy in disbelief. “Of course something will go wrong. It’s space exploration, not a beer run.” 

“Royce, neither of us will support an investigation at NASA, and I for one will publicly speak against it, if one does happen.” Chris said evenly. 

“So will I.” Mark immediately agreed. 

The Senator pretended to consider something gravely. “I have to confess to you boys, it’s seen as an embarrassment, that you’ve left the arms of NASA to go private.” 

Yeah, Mark bet. “Tell congress we left because the funding was so bad. If they want to keep the best and brightest, they need to pour more money into NASA. Start paying people right, at the very least. All the hundreds of geniuses they have there, working for peanuts. They deserve better.” There, that would help the people who deserved it, more than any investigation or public declaration. 

Chris was working REALLY hard not to laugh. 

–

Mark celebrated the win by vomiting up his dinner, and he was sure his toenails, about an hour after Royce Beck got subtly thrown out of the condo. “If I have the flu, I swear I’m killing SOMEONE.” He gasped between heaves. 

Chris was holding his head and rubbing his back, because Chris was the most perfect person to ever exist. “It’s almost definitely the therapies we gave you today. One was new.” He grabbed a wet washcloth, wiped off Mark’s face, then helped him sit. 

“Yeah, but I’ve never puked before.” 

“It’s kind of a miracle you haven’t. Don’t you listen when we tell you all the potential side effects?” 

“Not really?” 

Chris chuckled, so that was something. “All of these have risks. The fact that you aren’t having any side effects, or hadn’t had any, was really unusual. We have to keep giving you this particular nutrient combination, but now that we’re aware of the problem, we can medicate you to eliminate the nausea and vomiting.” 

Mark went back for a few more dry heaves and spit blood into the toilet. 

“Right.” Chris officially shifted fully into doctor mode. Mark could practically hear the click. “I’m getting my bag, I’ve got some meds that will help.” After the first day at SpaceX medical, a shelf of drugs had appeared in the refrigerator. Mark hadn’t asked, and Chris hadn’t said anything, but Mark knew they were there in case of all sorts of potential problems and emergencies. Including this one. 

Mark nodded. Apparently Chris could teleport, because he was gone and back instantly. “A glove? Really? You can’t even wear two, because of the cast on your hand.” After everything they’d done with each others’ bodies, gloves to touch him seemed a little pointless. 

“Humor me.” 

Mark rolled his eyes. “We’ve shared toothbrushes. I’m sure you’ve licked every place you intend to touch me.” 

“Doctor mode.” Chris reminded him. “You even gave it a special name. You know what I’m like.” He smiled a little. “I’ll lick you again, later, if you want.” 

Mark got comfortable up against the wall, leaned his head back, and watched. Chris was always a good distraction from any and all health problems. At least until he pulled out a syringe and a little bottle. “Aw, come on.” 

Chris cocked an eyebrow. “Because you’d keep pills down right now?” 

“Using facts against me is so unfair.” 

“Uh huh.” Chris drew out a dose, pulled out a pre-wrapped alcohol pad, and hesitated. 

“Just do it, I’ll live.” 

“Yes, causing you an anxiety attack, no problem.” Chris frowned, obviously thinking, then leaned over and flipped on the shower. Steam billowed and air moved. “Stick your face in the steam.” 

“You’re pretty smart, you know that?” 

“I’ve heard rumors.” 

Mark did as he was told, and closed his eyes. He felt the alcohol, but didn’t smell it, bless Chris, then a pinch in the arm and- 

Chris caught him as he lurched toward the toilet again. It was a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Falcon 9 project really was a wild and crazy project. So wild and crazy, Elon Musk himself put together a video of the process, that is both hilarious and awe-inspiring. (Which is exactly what he was going for, I'm sure.) You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvim4rsNHkQ


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t think you’d have the nerve. Yesterday. In the end, I thought I’d have to step in. I was wrong.” 
> 
> “The nerve for what?” Chris asked, confused. 
> 
> “To administer what’s probably the nastiest drug therapy to currently exist, to the guy who is clearly the love of your life.”

The week started like it always did, with Chris starting a new IV and a full series of ankle X-rays. It had been weeks, so later Mark was going to get some kind of calcium-uptake test to see if his bones were soaking up all the minerals they were pushing into him. They were pretty sure, because the minerals were going in and not coming back out, ha, but everyone wanted details. 

It wasn’t an MRI tube, so whatever. 

He’d started a couple bags of IV nutrients and was having his morning snack (granola with dried fruit, fuck broccoli) when a woman knocked very cautiously at the open door. He gave her a once-over. Unlike everyone else in medical, she was wearing a good suit, good jewelry, good shoes, and had her hair and makeup precisely done. Fuck. It was PR. “Yeah, come on in.” He told her, resigned. 

“Thank you, Doctor Watney.” She stepped three precise steps inside the door and stopped. “Doctor Beck.” She nodded to him. “I’m Rae, Mr Musk’s publicist. It’s an honor to meet you both. I apologize profoundly for disturbing you.” 

“What’s up?” Mark asked, bracing himself. If Musk wanted them doing interviews, Musk would be getting an earful. 

“Word has gotten out that you were injured in the accident in Boston, and that you are here for treatment.” 

Shit. Mark rolled his eyes up into his head. “How bad is it?” 

“Rumor has it that you’re dying, sir.” 

He’d spoken to his parents last night, Chris’ doctor family was constantly asking nosy questions because this was fascinating to them (Chris had blanket permission to discuss his medical but not psych with his family), and the crew was in constant touch. No one who mattered was worrying, but still. The whole world had watched his rescue, spent billions, become invested, and now they were out there worrying over his dumb ass AGAIN. “What do you want us to do?” 

The woman’s eyes widened. “I’m here to ask you that. Mr Musk told me to offer my services. It would be best to issue a statement that you’re all right, but you don’t have to be involved, if you don’t want to be. We can put out a statement in the media, from SpaceX, stating you’re under treatment, doing well, and would like privacy.” 

A PR wonk offering privacy. That was new. “And if I posted a vlog, like the ones from Mars, explaining what was going on? Put it up on YouTube?” That would get everything out in his own words, with no filters to change what he said into something he didn’t. 

“That would work brilliantly. If you want to do it from here, I can have someone in IT get in touch with you.” 

Mark and Chris exchanged glances. This was pretty much the opposite of what they were used to. 

“May I say.” Rae cleared her throat. “I’m acquainted with Annie Montrose. We operate very differently.” 

“I see that.” Mark held out his hand, and she came over and shook it with a smile. “Send up someone from IT, we’ll do a quick message, calm everyone down.” He looked at Chris, back to Rae. “I look healthy enough not to send up red flags, right?” There was that aspect of it. No sense doing a Reassuring Message if he looked like he was dying. 

“You look fine.” Rae hastily told him. “Better than ever, to be honest. A vlog is an excellent idea. It’s your style, so to speak. Seeing you in the same format, visibly healthy, would reassure people.” 

“Okay, we can record something here, get it out fast.” Mark decided. 

“I’ll send up someone from IT to help you.” Rae said. “Thank you, we appreciate your assistance.” She shook both their hands and disappeared again. 

Mark and Chris stared at each other a long moment. 

“You think Elon is deliberately choosing his best people we’d get along with most?” Chris finally asked. 

“Absolutely.” It would be Musk’s idea of a sales pitch – look at all these exceptional people they could be working with! Look how he wasn’t shoving them into a media circus! Look how great SpaceX was! 

“We should tell him we’re signing, put him out of his misery.” 

“We should. But I’m kinda curious about what he’ll offer next.” 

–

“Hello, Earthlings!” Mark said, staring out from the video screen. “I’m told you’re all worried that I’m about to drop dead. Didn’t you learn by now, I’m a cockroach? Mars didn’t kill me, I’m sure not going to die back here on Earth with medical care, and an atmosphere, and food to eat. There’s even full gravity!” 

There was a sound, and Mark turned the camera slightly, so that Doctor Chris Beck came into view. “I’ve also got my Beckinator looking after me, so really, I’m practically immortal.” 

“You have GOT to stop with the nicknames.” Chris told him. 

“Never, Pookie.” 

“Go back to Beckinator.” 

“Here’s the deal.” Mark told the camera. “Apparently you all know I broke my ankle about a month ago? Astronauts can have weird bone issues, and I get to be one of them. It wasn’t healing right, so we came on down to Houston to take care of it. As of now, everything’s straightened around, so it’s just a matter of letting it heal. Doctor Beck, explain for the nice people at home.” 

Chris leaned in and gave a short but accurate description of the effects of low gravity on bone density, and concluded with “If you go to the SpaceX web site, I’ve put together a page of resources for anyone curious about the phenomenon. Click on the link to ‘astronauts and bone health’. It also covers some of the great things we’ve learned from astronauts that we’re now using for people with health problems here on the ground.” 

“So thank you all for your concern, but please relax. I’m fine, and even if I wasn’t, I’d have the best people in the world looking after me. Everything’s cool. Have a good day! For science! Watney out!” 

The screen went to the SpaceX logo. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” Mark told the IT kid. “Put it on the vlog page you set up for me, thanks.” 

The video got over a million hits in the first fifteen minutes. Soon after, YouTube crashed. SpaceX’s web site was reporting heavy traffic, but IT was keeping it running. 

“Yeah baby, I still got it.” He high-fived Chris. 

–

“The internet says we’re adorable.” Chris told him, tablet trailing data hard-wire in hand. 

Mark stared at the ceiling of the shielded sensor room where he was getting some kind of bone scan, bored out of his mind. “Of course we are. We’re adorable as fuck. Have you seen us?” 

“They’re writing fan fic.” 

“Do not tell me another word.” 

“How are you doing?” 

The room was… not too bad. It was on the small side, but not as bad as it could be. They’d dimmed the lights a little, and put on some music, then stuck his feet in some kind of sensor array, surrounded them with sandbags to hold them still, and shot him up with radioactive calcium. “I’m still waiting for super powers. I feel strongly that I should have them, given all the radiation exposure.” 

“I am not having this discussion with you, you’re a botanist, you know damn well how radiation works on cells.” 

“I could fly. That would be fucking cool.” 

“You HAVE flown.” 

“Not what I meant, and you know it.” 

–

Johanssen was waiting on the front porch when they got home. “She looks enraged.” Mark observed. 

“Would it be cowardly of us to stay in the car?” 

“Yes. But I’m good with that.” 

“She’d drag us out.” 

They both sighed and crawled out of the car. 

“I cannot believe,” Johanssen began with a growl, “that you got back into vlogging without asking ME to set up the tech for you. Some random kid at SpaceX? What the fuck, Watney. Why not get on the internet and tell everyone you hate me, next.” 

“It was unplanned, we found out about-” Mark shut up when she growled again. “Uh. Can you set up my tech for me, now? Please?” 

“Better answer.” She agreed, and followed them into the house. “Get me your phone, your computer, and a pizza.” 

“Aye-aye.” Mark handed over his phone immediately. Chris was already ordering a couple pizzas. 

–

Johanssen left immediately after they ate, once Chris explained everything to her quietly in the kitchen. Mark was disgusted and resigned when Chris appeared soon after carrying a couple IV bags of fluids and a glove. “Oh, come ON!” 

Chris felt bad, because home was supposed to be their safe space away from the medical treatments, but this was the best way to deal with the vomiting, short of keeping him in medical overnight. “I know. But this will make you drowsy so it’s best done when you’re in bed. Please?” 

“I cannot resist the puppy eyes and the please, and you know it, you bastard.” Mark grumbled the whole way into the bedroom, stripped down to some boxers, and laid in the bed. He did start swearing creatively when Chris wheeled over the IV stand. “How in fuck long has that been here?” 

“Since before we arrived.” Along with a lot of other medical equipment, all stored in the hall closet, that Chris wouldn’t mention unless he was asked. He propped Mark up a little bit on some pillows for comfort, got everything he could possibly think of squared away before he started the IVs, so that he’d be able to completely focus on Mark once they were going. “We gave you the med that caused the upset on Saturday again, today, but we tried to time it better. Which means you should have a couple more hours before the nausea starts. You can try to ride it out, see if it gets as bad as Saturday, have the med on standby if you need it.” Which was exactly what Chris expected him to try. 

Mark Watney was nothing if not stubborn. It was his defining characteristic. He’d beat Mars through sheer force of will at the end; Chris could see him trying to beat his own body the same way. 

“It’d be easier on you if we dosed me ahead of time, though, wouldn’t it.” Mark asked in that soft voice that only Chris ever got. 

Martinez’ and Vogel’s kids got a gruffer version, but only Chris got this low, easy gentleness. If Mark was a sucker for puppy eyes, Chris would never say no to soft and gentle Mark. “It would be easier on YOU if you didn’t wind up vomiting until your throat bleeds. Again.” 

“Okay.” 

Chris blinked at that. “Okay?” 

Mark gave him a sardonic look. “After the last round of MRIs, it has come to my attention that I’m not the only one stressing out over my health.” 

“Oh.” Chris said softly. He pushed the IV stand aside, sat on the bed, and pulled Mark up into a hug. He felt his own stress levels drop when Mark’s arms came up around him. Mark was getting stronger and more muscular by the day, and feeling it, feeling the health of him, made him burrow his face into Mark’s neck and hang on tight. “Thank you.” 

Mark kissed his cheek. “It’s better for me, too, you know. I’m not a fuckin’ saint.” 

“You’re still doing it for me.” He gave Mark another soft kiss, and those warm lips on his made him burrow into his neck again. 

“Are you okay?” Mark asked. 

Chris cleared his throat and got up, going back to setting up the medication. “Yeah, of course. It’s. Humbling. When you do things like this for me.” 

“Well, I love you.” Mark said easily. 

Chris kissed him again. “I love you too.” He laid out the hose, turned the fan to blow alcohol fumes away from Mark, pulled on his glove. He began cleaning things off, hooked all the IV lines up, double checked them, got the saline going. “This will make you drowsy. That’s kind of the point of it; relaxes all the muscles and other tissues that make you vomit. It’s more complicated than that, of course, but that’s the gist.” 

“All right.” 

“I mean, REALLY drowsy.” Chris expected Mark to fall asleep and not wake until morning, so he intended to run some nutrients to make up for the food he’d miss, later. 

“Early bed time.” Mark shrugged. 

“All right.” Chris began the drug feed, triple-checked everything, took off his gloves and crawled into bed with Mark. He got between Mark and the IVs so everything was in reach to adjust as needed, and counted off the drips of medicine against his watch for a third time. 

Mark wiggled around a little, until he was in his favorite position, sprawled half on top of Chris with his arm – the arm with the IV – flung over his chest. “Mm, boyfriend pillow.” He mashed his face into the side of Chris’, said softly into Chris’ ear, “you smell good”. 

Chris grinned. “It might also make you a bit, ah, disinhibited. Since we’ve already BEEN disinhibited, I didn’t mention it. Should have, sorry.” 

“You’re a sex ninja, you can handle it.” 

If Mark was able to have sex under the influence of this stuff, Chris would officially declare him a medical sex miracle to the entire world. They laid together, kissing softly once in a while, Chris rubbing Mark’s back. Chris was pretty sure Mark was asleep when Mark said “Jesus, Chris, you didn’t tell me this stuff would make me HIGH.” 

“What does drowsy and disinhibited mean to you? High isn’t a medical term.” 

“It should be. Holy shit.” Mark held out a hand and moved it in front of his face. “Well, that’s something anyway, I half expected vapor trails.” 

“Vapor trails?” 

“Yeah, when you hallucinate, and- Never mind. I’m not having them.” Mark laid his head back down on Chris’ shoulder. 

“Tell me if you do have visual disturbances.” Chris told him, and reached over to lower the dose a little bit. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Mark stretched a little bit, groaned with pleasure as something in his back popped. “This is better than those muscle relaxants you usually give me.” 

“You’re expected to function on the muscle relaxants.” 

Mark snorted at that, snuggled in again. “Is this a club drug? Tell the truth.” 

“It, ah, has been used illegally, yes. Do you feel like dancing?” Chris hoped they weren’t going to have to deal with yet another atypical response; usually Mark weathered drug and nutrient treatments without blinking. 

“No.” 

Well, that was something. They laid together for a while longer, legs tangled, relaxed into each other’s bodies. 

“You should fuck me, the next time I’m on this stuff.” Mark said without warning. 

Chris tried not to choke. Or moan. Mark, bottoming, was not something they’d done yet. Chris really, really wanted to, but refused to push on the subject. He waited, patiently, and fantasized a lot. Well. Fantasy, plan, who was he to tell the difference? “How’s that?” He tried to ask calmly. 

“You wouldn’t do it right now, because you’re an asshole about consent.” 

“You’re right about that, but what makes bottoming sound like a good idea all of a sudden?” 

“Not all of a sudden. I’ve been thinking about it since before we hooked up. The trick is to get all the muscles to relax, right?” 

Chris closed his eyes at the mental image of Mark, laid out beneath him, open and begging for it. “Yeah. Using drugs to do it is kind of cheating.” 

“Would work though, right?” 

“Mark, you don’t ever have to bottom if you don’t want to.” 

“I do want to. I don’t want to mess it up. Hate not knowing what I’m doing. I’m too fucking old to be learning new tricks. Feel like an idiot teenager again.” 

Chris grinned at that, kissed the top of Mark’s head. “I love it.” 

“You’re kidding. For real?” 

“Hell yes. Introducing you to new things, watching you enjoy them? Sexist thing ever.” 

“Well, that’s something. But this’d sure as hell make things easier.” 

Technically true. “I want you fully aware when you bottom for the first time, not drugged half out of your skull.” 

“You and your consent.” Mark reached down and ran a finger up the hard-on Chris didn’t think he’d noticed. “Turns you on, huh? The idea of having me under you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You hadn’t said anything.” Mark slid his hand into Chris’ sweat pants, cupped him in his hand. 

“I’m not going to push you. That’s something we do because you want to, or not at all.” Chris rubbed himself against Mark’s palm, unable NOT to. “In fact, you don’t have to be doing this.” 

“Aw.” Mark stroked him once, laid his hand over him again. “What’s the matter, you aren’t aware and alert enough to consent?” 

“I’m only allowing this because you’re doing it to me, and we’ve both consented to it dozens of times before.” 

“Whatever works for you.” Mark licked into his mouth, stroked him some more. Chris gave up and moaned, and Mark laughed. “Am I going to remember this tomorrow?” 

“You-” Chris hissed as Mark’s hand moved again. “You should, or I’d be stopping it right now.” 

“Excellent. Tell me how you want to fuck me, baby.” 

“Want to make love to you.” Chris started rocking his hips. 

“You’re such a romantic. Tell me what you want to do to my virginal young body, Christopher.” 

He arched up and moaned at that, and Mark laughed again. “Want to- Jesus, Mark. Want to lay you out, give you a massage, get you all limp and relaxed and sleepy.” 

“Told you this’d be great for that.” 

“I can do it without drugs. Will. Oh god, do that again. Ngh. Want to open you up with my fingers, so slowly, while you talk the whole time, and tell me how good it feels.” He put his hand over Mark’s and started pumping slowly. “Mmm. Want to push inside you, and stay there until you beg me to move.” Mark’s hand tightened involuntarily at that and Chris shouted as he came, Mark’s laughter ringing in his ears. 

–

Chris was waiting next to the bed when Mark got out of the shower the next morning. “Hey, what?” He lifted his pen light. “For fuck’s sake, Chris, I said I felt fine. Are you SERIOUSLY giving me a neuro exam right now?” 

Chris didn’t argue. Pupillary response was excellent, and his eyes weren’t dilated. He ran Mark through enough of ‘follow my finger, touch your nose’ to be sure he wasn’t under the influence from last night. “Making sure the drug’s out of your system.” 

“Well, is it?” Mark asked sarcastically. 

“Yes.” Chris confirmed. He jerked Mark’s towel off and pushed him back on the bed. 

“Ah. Okay then.” Mark nodded, catching on. “If you wanna be THAT way about it.” He spread his legs a little, laid back, and grinned. 

“You remember last night?” Chris double-checked. 

Mark’s eyes closed and he sucked in a breath. “Yeah.” His voice was low and rough. “Yeah, I do.” 

Settling between Mark’s legs, Chris pulled out a bottle of lube and squirt some on his fingers. Mark’s eyes widened and his breath picked up a bit. “Nervous?” Chris asked, tossing the tube aside. 

“...yeah.” Mark surprised him by admitting. 

Chris leaned forward on his knees, until their lips were touching, met his eyes, smiled, and said “Good.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Mark said faintly, breaking out in goose flesh. 

“You can stop me any time.” Chris reminded him, sitting back on his heels and taking Mark in hand. 

“Shut up, and – guh – touch me.” 

Chris laughed, and did. He knew Mark’s body well, by now, and went with a hand job, like they’d done often, to put Mark at ease. Then when it looked like he was going to relax, he ran the fingers of his other hand down between Mark’s cheeks to that small, puckered opening, and rested his finger there. Mark shifted slightly, and his breathing sped up. Slowly, slowly, he pressed one finger inside, watching as Mark arched his back, barely breathing when he pushed down on Chris’ finger to take it in further. He laid his thumb on Mark’s perenium, over where his prostate was, pushed upward gently with the finger inside, and watched with satisfaction as Mark came apart, screaming, on the bed. 

–

“You look a little glazed, you okay?” Chris asked him with a grin, when they went through the usual morning medical bio-monitor stuff. 

Mark’s breath went a little short at the memory of what they’d been doing in their bed two hours before and he closed his eyes. “Shut up.” 

Chris hooted with laughter, then went to get all the crap to get his IVs going. 

Guh. 

–

After a couple hours of infusions for Mark, while Chris flipped through things on a tablet and consulted with his medical team, things got a lot more serious. Damn it. Chris got the rolly doctor stool and sat in front of him, met his eyes squarely. “We need to discuss your treatment. We’re at a point where a choice needs to be made, and you need to be the one making it.” 

Choices were good. “On a scale from DisneyLand to Mars, how serious is this?” 

Chris grinned a little, which meant not life threatening. “You’re doing very well, all your numbers are moving past ‘all right’ and into ‘actually healthy’ ranges and continue to improve daily. Because of that, there are a few more options for the bone density treatments than we originally thought.” 

“Let’s hear ‘em.” 

“One is to skip it altogether. I don’t recommend it, but in the interests of full disclosure, you could go without any bone density treatment and your ankle should heal up without it.” 

“Should.” 

Chris heard the skepticism in his voice and nodded agreement. “No guarantees. It also would do nothing to help any future issues, which includes further fractures. Those are almost certain if you don’t have any treatments.” 

Do nothing, more broken bones. Not really acceptable. “Not recommended.” Mark summarized. 

“No.” 

“All right, that’s out, what else?” He got a little smile for that one, yay. 

“We’re down to a choice between two drugs with similar actions. When we first got you here, you were in rough shape, and we were going to give you the milder of the two. But you’re doing remarkably well, so that opens up the option of the other drug. It has the best results for astronauts of any bone density drug we’ve been able to develop so far. Except the one that works best, unfortunately, has the most side effects.” 

Because of course it did. “Which are?” 

“Nausea, dizziness, headache, but the big one is bone pain. Nearly everyone gets it; it makes your bones hurt. All of them. Badly. There has been screaming and passing out reported.” 

“Are painkillers an option?” 

“Absolutely, and I will see you get anything that will help. But bone pain is tricky to medicate and doesn’t respond well, even to heavy drugs.” 

“It would have a better long-term result? Stronger bones, sooner, for longer?” 

“We can’t make promises, but yes, that’s the result we should get. It’s very effective for those who can tolerate the treatment, and has been used on quite a few astronauts with success.” 

Mark thought for a while. “How long’s the pain last?” 

“The infusion itself takes six hours. Pain’s been reported lasting from six to forty-eight hours. Usually about eight, then tapering off over the next ten hours or so.” 

“But Vicodin.” Mark couldn’t help but add, trying to get a smile out of Chris. 

It didn’t work. “Stronger than that. Mark, I’m not joking around here. We’re talking major pain. I’m only suggesting it at all because you’re so young and active; brittle bones would be a major quality of life issue for you. They don’t give it to fragile patients due to concerns that the pain will cause heart attacks.” 

“But my bones are in bad enough shape to warrant the risk.” 

Chris stared down at his hands for a while, then looked up, sad, and nodded. 

“What do you think?” 

His lips went white. “Don’t ask me to answer that.” 

Which meant the nastier drug, but he didn’t want to say so and subject Mark to any suffering. It needed done, though. Jesus, he wasn’t even fifty yet, and he was already on his first round with brittle bones. He’d probably end his life in a wheelchair as it was (if cancer didn’t get him first), but he would push back the inevitable if he could. “Let’s go with the best one. You and the others-” he glanced over to the table where the rest of the team was sitting, pretending not to pay attention, “can chase the side effects as they come up.” He tugged Chris in, and kissed him. “You do not get to feel guilty if I scream in pain for six hours.” 

“I will anyway.” 

Maybe he should have the other one, if it was going to-

“No. Stop thinking that, you’re right. This is the best choice. I hate seeing you suffer.” 

“That’s because you’re a fucking saint. If I am suffering, remember this will hopefully keep me from more broken bones like this one, so it might reduce the suffering, long term. Oh. One other thing.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you be using that med you gave me last night, for the nausea?” 

“Maybe. Probably. If it gets bad.” 

“Promise you’ll strangle me before you let me talk like I did last night.” 

Shaking his head, Chris finally laughed. “I’m not strangling you. But I’ll come up with something.” 

–

Mark didn’t think it was a good sign that they hung bags of nausea meds and painkillers before they even started the bone density drug. They also hooked him up to a high-data EKG monitor with actual sensors glued to his skin, which he’d never even seen before. “Isn’t this kind of, I dunno, medieval?” 

“Much better read if the sensors touch the skin. It’s old school.” 

That wasn’t ominous or anything. “Is there a crash cart out in the hall?” 

Chris pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything. 

“Is this your expect-the-worst paranoid ER astronaut doctor thing, or am I really at that much risk?” 

“You are at low risk, Doctor Watney, or we wouldn’t be doing this.” One of the other doctors, the other flight surgeon, put in. “We’re taking sensible precautions.” 

Uh huh. 

They’d also insisted he change into actual pajamas – though he got pants, it wasn’t a gown – and get into his bed. It was the first time he’d BEEN in the bed. That also seemed like a bad sign. “All the precautions taken, then?” 

His four doctors looked at each other, looked around the room, then nodded. 

“Yes.” Chris told him. 

“Well, let’s do it, then.” 

Chris kissed the top of his head, then turned on the drip. 

Five seconds later, Mark calmly picked up a basin off the bedside table and threw up. 

Then it got REALLY nasty. 

– 

Chris had fought major life-and-death battles in the ER, and intellectually, he knew the day with Mark wasn’t that bad in the overall scheme of things. The EKG had saved his sanity, bipping along steadily with barely a hitch, no matter how bad things got. That had been the good part. That had been the only good part. 

He knew it was going to be VERY bad when Mark started vomiting immediately. For almost seven hours, Mark proceeded to have the worst combination of pain and nausea that Chris had ever seen. He was pretty sure there was vertigo, too, but Mark had been too out of it to communicate it, either way. They couldn’t knock him out because of the vomiting. With mega-doses of painkillers and sedatives, they were able to keep him from thrashing, though even then he was groaning with every breath. It was breaking Chris’ heart. 

Three hours in, they finally hit on a drug combination that worked at least well enough that they could change his bedding and clothing (for the fifth time, his brain helpfully supplied) and settle him down. 

About five hours in, Chris started to do a quick exam – pupils, pulse, lymph nodes, the usual, and Mark fumbled around and took his hand. It was the first sign of awareness since maybe a half hour after they started the drug, so Chris grabbed on tight. “Mark? You in there?” 

His eyes slitted open. “You weren’t kidding about this being bad.” 

“No.” Chris swallowed down apologies Mark didn’t want to hear. “What do you need?” 

“Rinse and spit?” 

They did that, then Chris gave him some ice chips and Mark settled a little, eyes still barely open. “How long?” 

“Have you been at this?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Five hours, give or take.” 

“Huh. Can I lay back a little?” 

“A little bit.” He lowered the head of the bed slightly. They needed to keep him elevated, if they could, to keep his airway clear in case the vomiting started up again. “What are the pain levels like?” 

Mark shut his eyes long enough Chris thought he’d fallen asleep. Then, “It’s like this dragon with a million teeth. Was chewing on me, now it’s still. But the teeth are still there.” 

“We can’t give you more of what you’re on without risk of overdose. We can try something else.” 

“No. I can stand this, don’t fuck with it, might get worse again.” 

“All right. Let me know if you change your mind. According to the literature, the pain shouldn’t increase at this stage.” 

“Thanks. Love you.” 

“Jesus, Mark.” Ignoring the medical staff milling in and out of the room, he leaned in to kiss Mark’s forehead. “I love you too. This should start winding down.” 

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Mark said, and seemed to pass out. 

Chris had hoped that since Mark responded to the drug almost as soon as it hit his blood stream, the side effects might lessen as soon as it was stopped. They weren’t quite that lucky, but by late afternoon, it was obvious that he was resting a little easier. He consulted with the rest of the team, and when they agreed he wasn’t being overly cautious to leave Mark on the drugs for at least another six hours, he made them all go have dinner and let himself drop into a chair by Mark’s bed and hold his hand. 

The worst part of all his experience and supposed brilliance, right that minute, was knowing that they’d probably have to repeat this in a few years. 

–

Early evening, the rest of the medical staff had left but were on call in case of something unexpected. Chris had moved Mark’s orthopedic chair and footstool around so that he could sit by the bed with Mark’s hand in his, eyes on his IVs and vitals. After an attempt at an exam had left Mark screaming whenever he was touched, they’d all agreed to leave him on the meds overnight. 

Chris never wanted to hear that sound again. Mark had undergone surgery in space after an experience from hell, all without a complaint, and here he was sweating through the sheets and screaming. If this wound up not working, he’d be getting blackout drunk one weekend very soon. There was a sound at the door and he rolled his head to see who it was, exhausted. 

“Hey.” Johanssen said softly. 

“Hi.” 

She walked in, gave Mark an intense examination, and stroked his hair back from his face. Then she turned and did the same to him. “You both look terrible.” 

“I’m sure he feels worse.” 

“Yeah. But he gets to be unconscious.” She wheeled over a tray table, lowered it to his height, and put a brown paper bag on it, followed by a take-out cup. “Cheeseburger and a strawberry lemonade from The Gringo. Eat.” 

It had been his favorite indulgence while they’d been in training together. “Thanks.” 

“Do you need or want Martinez here? David had a tee-ball game, but I’m under strict orders to call him if he can do anything at all. Marissa backed him on it. She’s also standing by if you need anything.” 

Martinez spent every possible moment that he could with his son, so the offer was doubly kind. “We can’t do this for him. Mark’s got to ride it out himself. We’ve hit on a drug cocktail that controls the worst of the side effects, and now that we’re not actively administering the treatment, the pain does seem to be lessening.” Too damn slowly, but Mark had reported improvement. 

“Not for him, dummy. For you.” 

Oh. He cleared his throat, drank some lemonade. “I’m still hanging on to Doctor Beck for now; Mark needs me. Give it a couple days, I’ll break down and cry like a baby.” 

Johanssen stroked her hand through his hair again, and he gave up and leaned into it. “Let us know if there’s anything. We both mean it.” 

“Actually, there is something. If Martinez and Marissa are willing.” 

–

Sometime in the night, Mark woke up and felt good enough to talk Chris into bed with him. Which actually didn’t take much. Chris put the back of the bed up again, and sat with his eye on Mark’s vitals and meds, and Mark slid down and pushed his face against Chris’ hip, arms curled over and under Chris’ legs. Chris laid one hand in the center of Mark’s back, feeling the heart beat and respiration, and let himself drift a little. 

The sky outside was barely beginning to lighten when Chris heard footsteps, and he opened his eyes. It was Sutherland, the other flight surgeon on Mark’s team. “Morning.” He said roughly. 

“Doctor Beck.” She said formally, handing him a large takeout cup of coffee. Sutherland had been career Air Force, hired on at SpaceX after retirement. She’d been like bedrock through the entire last month, calm, reasoned, and compassionate. 

“Doctor Sutherland.” Chris answered in kind, and took a swig; because she was a detail person, Sutherland had fixed it the way he drank it, with an extra shot of espresso. “Aw yeah, that’s the stuff. Thanks.” He took another gulp. 

“I owe you an apology.” Sutherland announced, standing almost at attention beside the bed. 

Chris felt a bit under-dressed for this, in yesterday’s clothes and his boyfriend draped over him. “You do?” He couldn’t think of a damn thing Sutherland had done wrong. Ever. 

“Management assigned me to this team to look over your shoulder. They thought you were emotionally compromised, wanted to make sure nothing happened.” 

Oh, that. He smiled a little. “I know. It’s fine. I am emotionally compromised, and however you got on the team, you’ve been invaluable.” 

Sutherland blinked at him. Chris smiled winningly, then took another drink of his coffee. “Nothing to forgive, though I’d probably let you get away with murder for this coffee.” 

“That, I seriously doubt.” Sutherland said dryly. She looked down at Mark. “When I was assigned, I got both your full records, as much as we had of them. Between that and the media, I didn’t think either one of you could possibly live up to your reputations, or the hype.” She looked from Mark back to him, met his eyes squarely. “You have. You both have.”

At a loss, Chris offered “I’m glad to hear it.” 

Sutherland looked down at Mark again, shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d have the nerve. Yesterday. In the end, I thought I’d have to step in. I was wrong.” 

“The nerve for what?” Chris asked, confused. 

“To administer what’s probably the nastiest drug therapy to currently exist, to the guy who is clearly the love of your life.” 

“Ah. Well. It was the best thing for him. All four of us agreed on that. So did he, for that matter.” 

“It absolutely was. But still. That took a rare amount of courage and nerve.” She held out a hand. “I apologize for doubting you.” 

Chris took the offered hand, but instead of shaking it, held on. “Wait. You aren’t thinking about leaving, are you?” 

“I told management last night. You’re at the top of your game, you don’t need me bird-dogging you.” 

“Whoa, hey. I don’t need that, but I still need your opinion and input. I wasn’t kidding. You’ve been a big reason this treatment has worked. Plus, I actually am emotionally compromised and I’d appreciate someone I respect working with me. Knowing you’ll call me out if I need it.” 

“I really, really underestimated you.” 

“He gets that a lot.” Mark said into Chris’ hip. “It’s because he looks about twenty-five years old. And he’s pretty.” 

Chris laughed and ruffled his hair. “How are you feeling?” He helped Mark sit up, then bailed out the other side of the bed. 

“Mostly better. Bones ache like I’ve got the flu, but that’s a big improvement. Except for my ankle. My ankle feels like it’s being torn apart by rabid warthogs.” 

Sutherland gave a faint snort of amusement. “Most likely from the injury, then the bones trying to heal double-time with the medication. The reaction’s been reported before, fairly often.” 

“I figured something like that.” Mark agreed. He looked back and forth between them. “So that nerve block that got mentioned weeks ago. Is that still on offer?” 

–

It was possible to wheel Mark from the parking lot all the way into the bedroom of the condo, without a hitch or bump. Because Elon Musk thought of everything. “Here we are, princess.” Martinez announced, parking the wheelchair beside the bed that Chris had already turned down. 

“Fuck you, Martinez.” 

Chris stepped in. “All right. I’ll get your leg, you worry about the rest of you.” 

Mark’s entire leg was numb from the hip down, which killed the pain in his ankle for the first time in five weeks. It was worth having noodle-leg for that. “On three.” 

Because they’d been a team for so long, the three of them seamlessly got Mark into bed, and Martinez had the IV bags transferred from the chair to the stand by the time Chris got Mark’s shoe off. “Promise me I don’t have to leave this bed for at least forty-eight hours.” 

“I might make you get up and move around.” Chris told him. He was exhausted, but still in doctor mode. 

“Killjoy.” 

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

Mark grunted at him, and fell asleep. 

–

“You’re SURE you don’t need me? I can hang over night, do any heavy lifting you need. You’ve even got a guest room. Got a bag in the back of my van. No problem at all. Billion times better than the dorms at NASA.” Martinez loaded food from Marissa into the condo’s fridge. 

“We’re fine. Go home to your family, for heaven’s sake.” 

Martinez turned and met Chris’ eyes, unusually serious. “I am with my family.” 

Chris had to lean in and hug him for that. “I appreciate it. But all we’re going to do is lay around, sleep, and eat for the next two days. I promise I’ll call if anything comes up.” 

“Okay. Take care of you too, huh? You look like shit.” 

“I feel like it. Don’t worry. My goal is a shower and a nap.” 

Martinez nodded. “Marissa and I are on for next Sunday. She’s already got menus going.” 

“I’d offer to pay for it, but I know it’d insult both of you. So instead, let me know if there’s anything I can do.” 

“I will.” Martinez gave him another hug before he left. 

Chris walked through the condo slowly, feeling like he was under water, closing it up for the night. In the bedroom, still in his scrubs, Mark was sprawled out on the bed. His face was pinched and he had deep, dark circles under his eyes. Without opening them, he asked “Are you gonna do another medical exam on me?” 

“No.” Chris assured him. He walked forward, sat on the edge of the bed, and leaned over to let his face rest in the center of Mark’s chest. Mark laid his hand on the back of Chris’ head, and Chris closed his eyes and wept. 

–

Mark spent the next day out on the porch, refusing to let Chris leave his side unless it was to change out his IVs or get food. Even then, he did everything he could to keep Chris calm and resting, because honestly? He wasn’t sure he’d have agreed to that drug therapy if he’d known what it was going to do to CHRIS. 

It had been strange, once the pain hit. That was all there was. He’d come around to find Chris in deep discussion with his other doctors, go under again. Come up and Chris and Ortega were changing his clothes, or his bed sheets. Under again. When he’d finally gotten enough of a grip to actually talk, Chris told him five hours had passed. It had felt more like eternity compressed into fifteen minutes. He was in and out a little more, but literally unable to focus on anything, either from drugs or pain. He was pretty sure Johanssen had petted his hair. Finally, he got his eyes opened and focused, it was nighttime, and Chris looked like he’d aged ten years. He gave Chris some song and dance about wanting comfort, and got him into the bed with him in the hopes he’d rest, but passed out again before he could do much else about it. 

Now, thanks to the nerve block, he only felt like he had the flu, and was a lot more coherent. After Chris had CRIED ON HIM the night before, he knew the guy needed care and comfort worse than he did. “Chriiiiiisssss.” He stretched it out to about five syllables, like his mother used to do to his own name. 

“I am right here.” Chris grumbled from next to him on the chaise. “I am resting, Your Highness. All I’m doing is reading some journal articles.” 

“You’re digging through the most obscure data that Johanssen could dig up on that drug you gave me. How’s the translation algorithm? Usually they suck for tech articles.” 

“...did Johanssen rat me out?” 

“No. I know you. Come on, Pookie, cuddle up.” 

“Do not ever call me Pookie again.” But Chris put aside the tablet, reclined his side of the chaise, and curled around Mark where he was laying. As always his hand came up to rest over the surgical scar he’d left on Mark, years ago now. 

“Hi.” Mark said softly, leaning in for a gentle kiss. He ran a finger over the circles under Chris’ eyes. “You look like I feel, Doctor Beck.” 

“Eh, it was an all-nighter. I’ve done them a thousand times before, will again. A little sleep and I’ll be fine.” 

“To quote you,” Mark said gently, kissing him again, “emotional labor is a bitch. If your patient had been anyone other than me, or about ten other people you love, you’d be fresh as a daisy.” 

Chris huffed a breath, but didn’t otherwise answer. 

“You looked like you aged about ten years in ten hours, Chris. I’ll never forget that, not as long as I live.” He laid a finger over Chris’ lips when he started to speak, then stroked over his lips some more. “Don’t tell me it was what you do. It wasn’t. I know it wasn’t; it was for me. I don’t have words. Not really. Thank you for taking such good care of me. I love you.” He pulled Chris down over him, kissed him again. “Get some rest. Please? I’ll wake you up if anything important happens.” 

“I love you too.” Chris said into his chest. 

“I never doubted it.” 

–

“So what does it for you? Besides the talking.” Mark asked. 

“What is with you and this drug?” 

“I don’t know,” Mark admitted, “but I kinda like it. So. What’s your thing? Come on, I already only half know what I’m doing, help me out.” 

“Have you noticed that I have never said no to you, when it comes to sex?” 

“I… had not.” Mark sounded very thoughtful, so that would probably result in something interesting. Chris closed his eyes and grinned at the thought. 

Chris cleared his throat. “Back in high school and college, I had a reputation. If you wanted someone to experiment with, no strings attached? I was your guy. I, uh, know what I like and dislike, pretty well by now.” 

“...wow.” 

Embarrassed by the awe in Mark’s voice, he continued, “It started off as rebellion, when my parents wouldn’t let me start college until I was sixteen. Told myself I didn’t have anything better to do, so I, ah, dated. A lot. When I was fifteen, my dad found out I was spending most of my allowance on condoms. Dragged me into his office, you could tell he was going to give me hell, then stopped and thought about it, said he honestly had no idea how he felt. But he was sort of proud.” 

Mark burst out laughing. “I can see him saying that. He’d have killed you, if it wasn’t for the condoms.” 

“For sure. But I wasn’t about to risk my plans on getting a germ. Or someone pregnant. That’s also where the demands for clear consent started.” 

“You’re a smart guy.” 

“I’ve seen a lot of the results of violence in the ER. The consent thing is another part of me I’ll never be able to turn off.” 

“You don’t have to.” Mark leaned over for a quick kiss. “But I’m still not getting sexy details about what you want me to do to you.” 

Chris slouched down a little, thought of what he’d like to do with Mark, hummed. “You’re getting more confident, you know. With me.” 

“I don’t know about that. I do feel less like an idiot.” 

“Eventually you’ll let that forceful personality out to play. Start making demands. I’m looking forward to it.” 

“You like being told what to do?” 

“No. Or, not particularly. I like being taken.” 

Mark made a rough sound in his throat. “You’re killing me.” 

“It’s mutual.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “YOU DESECRATED THE SANCTITY OF THE NUMBER TATTOO.”

By Monday, he’d gotten back enough feeling in his leg to be able to use his crutches again. But the rabid warthogs hadn’t returned. The horrifying pain of the week before had finally eased with a lot of napping and ice cream over the weekend, and he felt… good. 

Not just good, but optimistic. 

Which was fortunate, because the next gift/bribe/enticement from Elon Musk was a shrink. 

After some discussion, Mark and his medical team had decided to go for broke and run another week of nutrition therapies into him before they ran tests and did an evaluation to decide on whether he could be released back into the wild. It would be another week of the usual, by now routine. They hit the cafeteria after a morning of more IV excitement. 

The SpaceX cafeteria had a pretty slick system worked out. It was a giant circular space full of windows and skylights, and the rule was simple; if you were sitting by the windows, you wanted to be left alone. The center space was for social animals, and it looked and sounded like a cocktail party twenty-four hours a day. Mark and Chris sat there once a week to get to know people and not be assholes, but they both preferred a table by the windows. Which was why it was so strange when an older guy came up to the table with a lunch tray and asked to sit down. 

Mark and Chris both stared for a second, and the guy hastily added, “Mr Musk sent me. I can go away, meet your in your room some other time if that’s better. Or, you know.” He gave a shrug and a grin. “Just go away.” 

Yeah, because they were assholes who would actually do that. Mark kicked out a chair and the guy sat down. They all shook hands. “It’s an honor to meet you both. I’m Kelly Scott.” He winced a little at both of them. “Behavioral Medicine.” 

Mark dropped his head to the surface of the table, not giving a damn about the contents of it. 

“I see you’ve met us, then.” Scott said with a laugh. “Look, Mr Musk asked me to swing by, say hello, tell you I was available if you wanted to talk to me in any capacity.” He shrugged. “What are you gonna do? You’ve met the guy.” 

“So what’s your background?” Chris asked politely. 

“The usual, you know. Air Force, pilot, got grounded after a mid-air collision.” He held up a finger. “That collision was not my fault. I want that on record, straight off.” 

“Of course it wasn’t.” Mark agreed, unwillingly amused. 

“Trauma, PTSD, drank for a while, decided to go back to school and do something useful.” 

"So you're better qualified to understand what we went through." 

The guy shook his head. “Oh hell no. No way. No one will ever UNDERSTAND that but you guys, and the rest of your crew. But I might come closer than some other shrinks you’ve met. I like to think that at the very least, I know when to shut up.” 

Mark found himself laughing. 

“We didn’t have a good experience with NASA psychologists.” Chris said delicately. 

“They think they need to sound like they know what’s going on, to instill confidence in their patients.” Scott nodded. “It’s a common approach. Dumb, but common. They mean well.” 

Mark found himself sharing an amused look with Chris. “It was the stupid questions that really bugged me.” 

“Same.” Chris agreed immediately. 

Scott managed to look hopefully curious and yet undemanding. It was an interesting trick. 

“Dance party.” Chris said. “Did you get the stupid on that?” 

“Oh my fucking god.” Mark agreed. He turned to Scott. “Maybe five, six weeks after we landed-” 

“Six.” Chris put in definitely. 

Mark waved his hand, deferring. “It started raining one night. Soft, gentle rain, warm. I rounded up the crew, got some music, and we went and danced out in one of the courtyards of the rehab building.” 

Scott smiled softly. “Aw, that’s really nice.” 

Yeah, they’d keep him. “Next morning, I shit you not, was ‘Doctor Watney, can you explain why you thought that was a good idea?’” 

Their new shrink shook his head. “They kinda get that way. Never left the ground, can’t see the big picture.” 

“What’s your thought on co-dependency?” Chris asked, eyes intent. Oh, good one. 

“I feel like I’m being tested, and don’t know the parameters.” Scott grumbled. “Well. Guessing from the rest of your description, the fact that you’re together in a relationship, and everything else, they’re probably worried about you guys depending on each other too much, huh.” 

They both shrugged. 

“Personally? I hate when they use that term. It’s over-used. Co-dependency is a form of enabling bad behavior. Reinforcing or supporting or allowing bad decisions. You two? You might depend on each other too much, I don’t know. Don’t know you well enough to begin to hazard a guess. But given the Nobel Prize, the two doctorates, the high-stress job Doctor Beck held down the entire time, the fact that there wasn’t so much as a whisper of any negative behavior about either of you for the entire year you lived in Boston? Whatever you’ve got going on, it’s positive.” 

Unable to resist, Mark asked, “Aquaman… If he can control fish, why do whales listen to him? They’re aquatic mammals.” 

“Jesus Christ, not this again.” Chris groused, rolling his eyes so far Mark expected them to get stuck. 

“This is another test I am unqualified to take.” Scott complained. He seemed to ACTUALLY THINK ABOUT IT. “Maybe he controls any animals in the water? That would make him able to control penguins. Which would be pretty cool. Imagine a herd of flightless waterfowl going after a bad guy. Damn, now I want that comic book.” 

“You’re hired.” Mark told him. 

“I do not understand what just happened.” Scott admitted to Chris. 

“Mark Watney just happened.” Chris told him with a laugh. 

–

“We should really let Musk know we’re signing on. I’m kind of afraid to see what happens next if we don’t.” 

“Patience, young Jedi.” 

“Oh my god, you have a plan. This I have to see.” 

–

Mark finally felt good, healthy, in a way he hadn’t for longer than he was willing to think about. He decided to celebrate. “Strip off. Massage. Move it.” 

Chris stood in their bedroom in the dim light. “I’m fine. You’re the one-” 

“I had a massage today. It sucked. I could feel my vertebrae moving. Strip off, on the bed.” 

After a long, searching look, Chris pulled off his clothes, crawled up on the bed. “How do you want me?” 

Any way he could have him. “Face down.” 

He waited until Chris was settled, then swung a leg over and sat on Chris’ upper thighs. “Too heavy?” 

“No, you’re fine.” 

Mark ran both hands up Chris’ back, back down again. “Your back is like art. Beautiful, sexy art.” 

“Oh geez.” 

“And the dimples kill me.” Mark shifted, bent down, and dropped a kiss on each one. 

“Sacral dimples.” Chris told him helpfully. 

“Sexy butt accents.” Mark replied, and smiled when Chris laughed. 

He started on Chris’ shoulders, nothing rough or complicated, gently working the muscles until they relaxed. He moved a little lower, repeated the process. “I should start doing this regularly. You’ve got knots in here.” 

“Mmm.” 

He kept shifting lower, lower, until finally he cupped the cheeks of that perfect ass in his hands, and got to work. Relaxed muscles. Right. He could do that. Chris had realized this wasn’t only a massage, and was shifting slightly, the little turned-on movement he did when he couldn’t hold still. “Spread your legs.” Chris did, with a small sound, and he knelt between them, continuing the massage, putting some muscle into it now. Chris began rocking his hips into the bed, and Mark told him “You better not rub one off on that sheet.” He made a broken little noise in his throat and held still again. “Better.” He shifted his legs to spread Chris’ wider, and ran both thumbs down between his cheeks, then moved his hands to his upper thighs and started working on them. 

“Mark.” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“You’re a tease.” 

“Nah, I’m back here admiring the view.” He ran his thumb down between Chris’ cheeks again, to make his point in no uncertain terms, and got a moan and another thrust down into the bed. 

Chris was sort of trembling all over, a little bit of a tremor, strung tight. He figured any more massage wasn’t going to get anywhere, and lubed up his fingers as quietly as possible, hoping to hell he was doing this right. He spread his legs – and therefore Chris’, and leaned forward on one hand, down to Chris’ ear. “So, Christopher. You like being taken.” Then he slipped one finger into Chris as gently as possible. 

Chris shouted wordlessly and arched up into him, then collapsed again. “Mark.” 

“Yeah?” He circled his finger, grinning when Chris pushed up against his hand. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” Mark had to ask, carefully adding more lube and pushing his finger inside again to some really fantastic noises. He took his time, moving carefully, trying to loosen the muscles he could feel. 

“Oh, god, fuck me.” 

“I thought it was love-making.” Mark whispered into his ear, then removed his finger and slid two back in. That got a squeal, as well as more pushback. “You are so goddamn gorgeous. All stretched out on my fingers, wiggling around. Could you come like this? Whimpering and begging, on my fingers?” 

“Want your cock.” Chris moaned into the pillow. 

“You’ll get it, don’t worry about that. But answer the question.” He carefully spread his fingers and got an almost-cry and his name again. “Could you come like this?” 

“Yes. Please. Don’t stop.” 

“Not unless you ask.” He dropped a kiss between Chris’ shoulder blades, watching the muscles flex as he squirmed around. Spread his fingers again, the tiniest bit further than the last time. “I have to admit, having you under me like this, I definitely see the appeal.” Chris felt relaxed around his fingers – he wasn’t the beginner here, after all, and Mark went back for some more lube and pushed the tips of three fingers into him. “More, baby? Want to get all loosened up for me?” Chris almost screamed as he pushed upward onto Mark’s fingers, and Mark held them still and let Chris set the pace. God, watching him like this was like nothing he’d ever done before. He’d NEVER gotten off on his partner’s reactions, not like this. He could watch Chris for hours. 

“You still like my hands?” Mark whispered in his ear. “Are they big enough?” Chris jerked, whole body tight, and Mark thought it had been an orgasm at first. “You know,” he mused, sliding his fingers out, pushing them back in and enjoying the low sounds Chris was making constantly now, “if you come on my fingers, I’m still going to fuck you. However I like. Take my own pleasure.” That got another full body twitch, including the muscles around his fingers. He leaned in to whisper again. “I’d rather feel all these muscles tight around my dick, though.” 

“Mark.” Chris sounded absolutely wrecked, which was gratifying. He spread his fingers, pulled them out gradually, and listened to a series of ‘ah’ sounds. 

“Up on your knees and elbows, baby.” Mark slid his fingers in and out a few more times, to watch his graceful Chris go clumsy and uncoordinated every time his fingers moved. Eventually he got himself where Mark wanted him, and was using the additional freedom of movement to rock himself back on Mark’s hand. “One day we’re going to do this, until you come. And I’m going to get a mirror so I can watch your face when you do.” 

Chris sounded like he was chanting ‘please’ into the pillow between really erotic guttural sounds, and he felt like he was ready to go, so Mark pulled his fingers free to lube his dick up. He pressed up against Chris’ opening, and ordered sternly, “Slow. Do NOT hurt yourself.” Then he pushed, and watched in fascination as his cock slipped inside. Chris groaned. “You do not have any idea how good you look, stretched around me right now.” Mark told him. He waited until Chris was gasping with every breath. “All right. Slide back, take it easy.” He let Chris move back maybe an inch, moaning the whole way, and stopped him. “Gotta take care of you, right?” He got more lube and applied it all around that tight pink rim, closing his eyes to resist the sounds Chris was making. “All right. A little more.” He did it again, to hear the noises, then without warning thrust as hard as he could, the last two inches. 

That got an actual scream. He almost came on the spot. 

Mark closed his eyes and hissed air through his teeth a couple times. It wasn’t doing much to help his control. He tuned back in, and Chris was sobbing. Eek. “Chris. Are you all right?” 

“Move. Please, or let me move. Something.” 

“Are you hurt?” 

Chris didn’t answer, instead leaned forward, then back against Mark, hard. “Do you want me to beg? I can beg. Fuck me already, Mark, you’re killing me. Please. First your hands, now your cock, and you’re making me hold still. Can’t take it.” He started rocking, twisting his hips, tapering off to more ‘please’ and Mark’s name. 

Mark thrust in time with the rocking, and oh, wow. That was impossibly good. Chris pushed back harder on the next rock, so Mark thrust harder on the one after that, and Chris sobbed his name and ‘yes, please’. 

“That’s right, baby, you can move.” Mark told him, then wrapped his hands around Chris’ hips and yanked him backward onto his cock again, and again, and again. Someone was making a lot of noise, and he felt like he was drowning and he never wanted to come up for air, and he felt Chris tighten all around him, and that was it, he was finished, and he let himself go. 

–

Mark was on his side next to Chris, one leg thrown over him. Chris was flat out, face down again, shaking. “Hey. Shhh. You’re good. You were so good. Incredible.” He kissed Chris’ temple, rubbed his back, and quickly dragged a blanket up over them. “Shit, did I hurt you?” 

“No.” Chris whispered, and turned his head to face Mark. His pupils were the size of moons. He arched and moaned. “Oh my god, Mark.” 

Oh his god, what? Mark cuddled him closer and kept rubbing his back. “What can I do.” 

“Mmm. This is really nice.” He shivered again. “I’m wrecked, cuddle me and tell me I’m awesome for a minute.” 

“You are awesome. Amazing.” He kissed Chris gently on the forehead, then dipped his head lower and kissed his mouth, gently at first, and then with tongue and teeth as Chris responded roughly. “Just tell me. Is this good aftermath, or bad?” 

“Good. Absolutely the best.” Another shiver racked him and he groaned through it. 

All right then. No need to panic. He kept rubbing Chris’ back. “You know, I think I’m really getting the hang of this.” He said, and Chris gave a weak chuckle. 

“I didn’t realize you had that much control. Pushed all my buttons.” Chris said into his neck. 

“That’s what you get for hooking up with an old fart. The bad news is, it takes us a while to get off, but the good news is, it takes us a while to get off.” 

“I’m not even arguing with you because that was the most amazing sex of my life and if age is a factor, I can’t wait until next year.” 

“Really?” Same for Mark, but he wasn’t the one with years of hounding around for experience. 

“Mmm.” Chris had relaxed, and was still occasionally having moments where his eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned, but he wasn’t trembling or incoherent like he had been. 

“Let me get you some water, clean us up, okay?” 

“Love when you take care of me.” Chris murmured, pulling him down for a kiss. 

“Do you love being taken?” Mark whispered in his ear, and grinned when Chris closed his eyes and made a rough noise in his throat. 

– 

“So, uh, hey.” Mark said awkwardly over drinks on the porch. 

“Hmm?” Chris was well and truly fucked out; he hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time, since before he’d been chosen for Ares, and it was SO good. He stretched to feel his muscles protest, and rubbed his hand along the bruises Mark had left on his hip with his fingers. Mmm. 

“While I was up earlier, right after? I noticed the hallway window was open.” 

Chris froze. He considered for a long moment. “You’re saying the neighbors could have heard us.” 

“I’m saying I don’t see how the neighbors DIDN’T hear us.” Mark said with a laugh. 

Chris groaned with embarrassment and pushed his face against Mark’s arm. “Pray now it doesn’t get out to social media.” 

“I can think of worse things to be said about us. We’re having really good consensual sex. What’s wrong with that?” 

“Looking your mother in the eye the next time you see her, which will likely be over Thanksgiving dinner. Better, you looking MY mother in the eye.” 

“...oh. Shit.” 

–

Friday was his last IV treatment. He cheered when they pulled the needle and bandaged his arm. 

“We aren’t making promises, we’ve got tests to run next week. You may wind up with more.” Chris cautioned. 

“I’m thinking positive.” 

“Think positive, then, but no bitching next week if you wind up on another round of IVs.” 

“I’m positive I won’t need it.” 

Doctor Sutherland was smiling at her shoes, much easier with both of them since that early-morning talk. Mark got the sense that she might even respect them MORE, after their reaction to her admission that management assigned her to look over their shoulders. Of course management did, they’re not idiots. 

He didn’t mind doctors, if they didn’t suck. Why was that so hard to get? 

–

Something was scheduled for Sunday, Chris wouldn’t say what, and Mark suspected this had to do with the plan he had about signing on with SpaceX, and whatever. Chris had proven a billion times over he wanted what was best for Mark, so Mark rolled with it. He’d had a quick consult with Sutherland over his health, and she had at first refused to answer, because she didn’t want to get between him and Chris. But eventually she admitted that yes, as his doctor, she would verify his immune system was as healthy as any other person’s. 

So he made an appointment. 

“What did you DO?” Chris almost-shouted when he returned to the condo. 

Mark knew he was going to get this reaction, to the point he almost removed the bandage in the car, but that wouldn’t save him. “Some body work. It’s fine, I checked with Sutherland first. Been thinking about it a while.” 

“You checked with SUTHERLAND.” Chris repeated, insult in every line of his body. 

Maybe that had been a bad idea. But still. Mark looked down to enjoy the sight of Chris’ hands, removing the bandage from his upper arm. Even with the cast on his left hand, he was deft and sure. “You have got to be kidding.” 

“See?” Mark tried. “No big deal.” 

Chris dropped into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. “You’re a lunatic.” 

“I’m your lunatic.” Mark looked down to admire his newly modified ‘17’ tattoo. He’d had the same artist who’d done the original add a skull and crossbones, so now the number looked superimposed over a Jolly Roger. “Yarr.” He nodded. Good afternoon’s work. 

“I’m in love with a nutcase.” Chris said, laughing. “I’m getting a red cross on mine.” 

That would be perfect. He wondered what the rest of the crew would do, because no way they wouldn’t do something, after that. 

–

In the dark of their bedroom that night, they cuddled up, Mark already dozing off. Chris’ hand came around him to lay over the scarring on his torso, like it always did, and he smiled to himself, and- 

Chris sort of catapulted out of the bed, flipped his lights on, and had his bag in his hand, all in a single move. 

“That was impressive. That was superhero levels of awesome.” Mark told him. 

“Not amusing. There’s inflammation around your surgical scar.” 

“You can feel that?” 

“Of course I can.” Chris grabbed the sheet, pulled it back, and froze. 

Mark had no idea what that reaction meant. “I would have warned you, if I knew you could FEEL it. It’s just…” He shrugged. “I know that scar bothers you. The fact you put it on me. Since I was getting ink anyway, I thought...” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the statement. 

Chris stared down at him, then reached a finger out and traced over the scar, gently. “You got a heart.” 

“More like an outline of a heart.” He hadn’t been willing to get anything elaborate, but a thin red line in the shape of a heart? That was pretty simple, and even easy to remove if it turned out Chris hated it. “Maybe next time you look at it, it won’t bother you as much?” 

That got him a kiss, first on the lips, then another pressed to the small heart he’d had tattooed over the surgical scar. “I can’t believe you did that.” 

“I was already there.” 

“No, don’t brush it off, you did it for me.” 

“Well, sure.” 

Chris moved his bag from the bed to the floor, and crawled up over Mark with intent. “It’s perfect.” 

“Glad you like it.” 

“You’re still a lunatic.” 

“I can’t believe we’re even debating that fact any more.” 

–

Mark kept waiting for something weird to happen on Sunday, but it was the usual; morning in bed having lazy sex, long shower together, then over to Martinez’ for Sunday dinner. At first they’d worried about getting underfoot, but Marissa had told them in very definite language that they were family and expected to be at her table for family meals, quit trying to get out of it or she’d drag them to the house by their ears. 

“Hey!” Martinez called from the front porch. 

They both called out greetings as they came up the walk. All three hugged, then went inside. “We’re out back today. Got the grill going.” 

Mark followed the other two men through the house automatically, using his crutches still, and was watching the ground to get through the door Chris was holding open, and he looked up and- 

A huge cheer went up from the dozens of people in the back yard. “What?” He looked around. There was a “TWO YEARS BACK” sign hung on the back fence, and Martinez confiscated one of his crutches and shoved a beer bottle in his hand. 

“Been almost two years since we got home, buddy. Close enough for a party.” Martinez slapped him on the back, bounced down the stairs and disappeared into the crowd. 

“Give me the beer, use the railing and your crutch.” Chris said, laughing. 

“You organized this.” 

“We all deserved a party.” 

Mark leaned in and kissed him, full on the lips, in front of the entire mob of probably everyone they knew in Houston. Another cheer went up. Through the sound, they could hear Martinez shriek. 

–

He got down to ground level, got his beer back, and- “Mom? Dad?” 

“Surprise!” His mother stepped up and he grabbed her and held on tight. As always, his dad moved in and hugged them both. 

“It’s so good to see you both.” He said into his mom’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?” 

“Chris arranged it.” His dad kissed his ear. “I haven’t told you to do with your life since you turned eighteen, kid, but I’m telling you now, you need to keep him.” 

“I plan to.” 

“Good.” 

His parents let go of him, and he was mobbed again, this time by Lewis and Vogel. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you guys, so much.” 

Lewis only laughed, and hugged him some more. Vogel clapped him on the back and almost knocked him over. 

More greetings, from everyone at NASA and JPL who’d been involved in his rescue, and Mindy Park in the corner looking really intimidated. He smiled and waved and she smiled back, still nervous but relieved. 

Eventually someone shoved him into a chair “before you fall down” and Martinez showed up with a plate of food, and it was SO good, being surrounded by everyone he loved, all happy and not stressed, and having a good time. His folks sat down with him, and grilled him about his health, and he insisted he was fine, and when Chris came by and dumped a bunch of broccoli salad on his plate, he just laughed and ate it. 

People rotated through, stopping to say hi. Chris stopped by a couple times, and on the last trip Mark grabbed his hand and held him there, fingers laced together, content. His mom was looking at him, with an expression on her face he hadn’t seen since he was a kid, and Mark knew she was FINALLY letting go of the last of the worry she’d carried for him since he became an astronaut. 

“Hang on, I have to make an announcement or two.” Chris slipped his hand free, kissed the top of his head, and moved away. Mark watched with some envy as he took two running steps and jumped up onto a chair with no effort, and called “Can I have your attention, everyone?” 

Of course he got it, because it was Chris. 

“First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for making the trip today, it means a lot to us, to have you here. But most of all I want to thank Marissa, and maybe Martinez, for opening up their home and arranging this whole shindig, just because I asked.” He raised a glass to them. “Thank you both. Sincerely.” 

Everyone applauded. 

“Second, for the main reason for the party! Mark’s finished most of his treatments, and has been declared healthy. He’s back up to his pre-Mars weight!” 

Big cheer for that one, Mark gave a salute. He hadn’t known about the weight. Dammit, if Chris’ diet was working, he’d have to stay on it. 

“And last. Well.” Chris grinned at Mark. “We wanted you all to know, Mark and I will be moving to Houston permanently, and signing on with SpaceX.” 

There was another cheer, and an incredibly loud shout of “YES!” from over near the porch. Mark turned, and, oh geez. There was Elon Musk in jeans and a SpaceX tee, both fists raised in the air in victory. 

They all laughed. 

–

The party went on for hours, and after a while, Chris came over and sat next to Mark, and they held hands as people came and went, chatting. Most of the JPL and NASA crowd left fairly early, for them, and Mark got up to offer hugs and hand shakes and renewed thanks to every last one of them. 

Mitch slid up and put his arms around them both, standing between them, pulled them close. “I don’t know what shit you’ve stirred in last two weeks, but Teddy’s been pissing himself and there are about fifteen internal investigations going. Thanks for that, I’m enjoying the hell out of it.” He laughed, hugged Chris, kissed Mark on the cheek with a whiskey-scented chuckle, and left. 

Musk also took his leave early, with handshakes for the entire crew, a kiss on both cheeks for Marissa, and hugs for Chris and Mark. “We’ll sign the paperwork Wednesday, then we’re going to have a chat, boys. We are going to have so much fun.” 

Martinez watched him go. “I wonder at what Elon Musk considers fun. And it’s sorta scary.” 

“You have no idea.” Mark told him. 

“What the hell is THAT, Watney?” Lewis’ command voice suddenly rang out. 

Mark automatically ducked out of habit. “What’s what?” 

“That thing on your arm.” 

He looked down, not knowing- “Oh! The tattoo! Awesome, right?” He pulled up the sleeve of his tee shirt. “Yarr!” 

“YOU DESECRATED THE SANCTITY OF THE NUMBER TATTOO.” Martinez shouted. 

“I didn’t desecrate anything! The number’s right there!” 

“You put a fucking Jolly Roger on it.” Johanssen sneered. 

“I’m the Pirate King of Mars!” 

“You did not have command permission to do that.” Lewis stated in her best ‘I will shove your ass out an air lock, so help me’ voice. 

“It’s my body!” Mark told her. 

“What the hell kind of excuse is that?” Lewis demanded, hands on hips. Mark felt sorry for her students. 

“No help for it, we’ll all have to get them.” Vogel said calmly. 

“I don’t want a damn pirate flag on my arm.” Johanssen complained. 

“I’m getting a red cross. Get what you want.” Chris told her. 

“I WAS NOT CONSULTED.” Lewis snarled at Chris. 

“It’s fine, Commander.” Martinez told her. “We can get shooting stars. You know, military insignia.” 

Lewis glared at all of them. “You may be the best crew ever, but you’re still a goddamn herd of cats.” 

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Chris told them all. “Same place as last time. I already booked us.” 

Vogel stared, then shook his head. “It’s like you know us.” 

–

Chris had arranged for Mark’s parents to stay at the condo with them, now that the surprise was sprung. Because he was the best boyfriend on earth. Mark and his mother sat on the couch together, while Chris and his dad hauled in the luggage. 

“I’m really glad I got to see you with all your friends, today.” She told him, holding his hand. “I know you’re an adult, and you’ve proven to the world you can take care of yourself, but it’s so nice to see how much they all love you.” 

“It’s so good to have you here.” 

“Chris has been lovely about keeping us up to date on your health, but it’s good to see you well.” 

“He has?” 

“Of course. He’s your doctor, and I knew you’d never tell us anything. You told us you were fine while starving on Mars for heavens’ sake, you weren’t going to admit to anything in an actual medical facility.” 

Busted. 

“He loves you so much. It comes through, every time he talks about you. Makes me so happy you have someone like that in your life.” 

Mark laid his head on her shoulder. “I love him too.” 

“I know. Could you not have loud sex while we’re here, though?” 

“Oh god. It made social media?” 

“It did.” His mother giggled. “There’s a recording.” 

“OH MY GOD.” 

–

“You know I wouldn’t be getting another tattoo if it wasn’t for you, you asshole.” Johanssen complained. 

“You’d need to get another number, anyway. Mars twice. You badass.” Mark reminded her, with a gentle punch to the shoulder. 

“Ugh, fine, TWO more tattoos.” She glared. “One is still all your fault.” 

Chris was currently in the chair, getting a red cross inked. The red looked really nice against his pale skin. Martinez and Lewis were next. They were getting gold shooting stars, which were used in military insignia to designate astronauts. 

Vogel was in deep discussion with another artist, drawing out chemicals on a slip of paper and talking about molecular versus structural formulae. Mark leaned over a little bit, and, yeah, Vogel was going with oxygen and sugar, the components of the bomb he’d set off. “Go with simple depiction.” He offered. “It’ll look more badass to the unaware.” Vogel rolled his eyes. 

“So what are you getting?” Mark asked Johanssen, once she ran out of profanity. 

She rolled her eyes and pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “It was this or some code, and code looks boring.” 

Mark took it and opened it up. It was a circuit, and he tilted his head, running through what it could be. “Is this for one of the Hermes’ comm systems?” 

“It’s the one I hacked to keep NASA from driving when we mutinied.” 

He laughed. “Nice.” He jerked his head. “Vogel’s getting the components of his bomb. You’re a couple anarchists.” 

They traded fist bumps. 

–

After the tattoo parlor, they went to The Gringo, and then back to Chris and Mark’s, unwilling to separate. Lewis was headed home in the morning, and Vogel had some meetings at NASA before leaving Wednesday. 

“This was a good idea, Beck.” Lewis sighed, laying back in the chaise on the back porch. “We need to do it more often.” 

“Especially since Martinez and Johanssen are taking another shot at Mars in a couple years. Get in our partying while we can.” Mark told them all. 

“More partying when we get back.” Johanssen said easily. 

“For sure, but why wait?” 

Later, it started to rain, and they played music, and danced. 


	11. Epilogue

It took Chris and Mark three hours to sign everything in HR. It included a couple really wild nondisclosure agreements, specifying a long list of things they couldn’t talk about. But once they read it, it all boiled down to not telling people about SpaceX projects that were in the works, or patented technology. Which seemed pretty damned reasonable. 

After, they were shown up to Musk’s office, for hearty handshakes and offers of drinks (ugh, no) or coffee (yes, please), and handed two envelopes. “What’s this?” Mark asked. 

“Signing bonus.” Musk said easily. 

Mark opened his and was really glad he had a chair behind him, because he sort of collapsed. Chris landed in the chair beside him, and Mark grabbed his check and looked at it, too. “These are for a quarter million dollars. Each.” 

“You need a house.” Musk said with a laugh, and sat down with them. “Before we go further, though, I thought I’d clarify something.” He smiled at Mark. “You seem to think that Doctor Beck-” 

“Chris, for god’s sake.” Chris interrupted. 

“-Chris, then, was the object of my recruitment, because I called him. That’s not true; I called Chris because he seemed less likely to tell me to fuck off and hang up, of the two of you.” 

Chris hooted with laughter. 

“You were the real goal.” Musk assured Mark. “No offense, Chris. I’m thrilled to have you aboard, too.” 

“None taken.” Chris assured him. 

“Why?” Mark asked. 

“Well, Doctor Watney, Mark, you’re the closest thing this planet has to an environmental engineer. And I’m in need of one.” Musk leaned back and clicked a remote at the entertainment screen on the wall. It flicked on, showing a cascade of technical information and drawings. “My goal is to get this going, before I die of old age.” 

Mark stared at the screen. 

“Holy shit.” He said with Chris, in unison. 

**Author's Note:**

> About the medical stuff -- this is supposed to be twenty years in the future. So I'm basing it on stuff we have now, but making things a little better, a little faster, etc. I know some of it doesn't work that way RIGHT NOW, but I'm trying to stay within the realm of things possible in twenty years.


End file.
